Christina Bendo
objects that add joy to the everyday ritual of sharing food and drink with others
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Shades of Green, Pt. 1

4/7/2022

13 Comments

 
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There is nothing quite like the first flush of spring.  To me, it is a season of familiar surprises.  I forget the crocuses will bloom, then suddenly they are there, and even the crisp March air feels warmer with the promise of renewal.  Other bulbs begin to pop up in garden beds, the maples and sassafras put out cheery colored tassels, the pear trees downtown make a smell that’s horrible but worth it for the resulting display, and in the woods covering the mountains, precious spring ephemerals carry out their fleeting cycles. 

​ I remember my first real experience of spring in Appalachia like a dream, because in some ways it was.  I had lived here for two and a half years already, but working multiple jobs outside my own studio had kept me tethered to the realms of work and home, with almost no time for exploration in my exhausted hours off.  The previous summer had been marked by the end of a significant  relationship, and I was struggling to recalibrate my life and goals. Then in March of 2020, I was laid off from my restaurant job.  What began as a period of uncertainty developed into one of the best things that has happened in my life: a total transition to self employment and the freedom to chart a course in a new direction.  During that spring I spent more time in my studio than I had been afforded in years, had time for cooking and gardening projects, and made up for lost time being outdoors.  Most importantly, I began to make time for self reflection.  

​Each Sunday I would head up to the Blue Ridge Parkway and hike sections of the Mountains to Sea Trail.  One section in particular I visited almost every week, to watch the progression of spring flowers and foliage into the summer.  It was during this time that I fell in love with spring ephemerals.  I remember wanting to shout out loud the first time I came across a wake robin, and my awe upon coming into a glade carpeted entirely with trout lilies, so numerous it was hard to avoid stepping on them on the trail.  I can recall my curiosity upon discovering the strange, rubbery purplish stalks of early blue cohosh with its leaves still folded in, followed by a slightly manic hunt to find a flowering specimen after finally identifying the plant with the help of a friend.  Watching these flowers emerge was a metaphor for what was happening in myself; new buds full of the promise of life were pushing up after feeling like I had spent a long winter underground.
Those hikes and their discoveries marked the first time I had felt joyful in a long time, and I knew that I wanted to make pots decorated with spring ephemerals to commemorate that feeling.  Because though the flowers are ephemeral, the feeling is eternal, and universal: the whole of creation seems to rise up with renewed vigor when the earth turns green again.
​ 

Perhaps my favorite word for this phenomenon is viriditas, used extensively in the writing and music of Hildegard of Bingen, a 12th century saint, mystic, composer, and scholar of medieval medicine.  Hildegard referred to viriditas as a “greening force” within all living things.  She wrote of the connection between health and spirituality, detailing both the uses of foods and herbs with “good viriditas” and the cultivation of positive virtues as a way to achieve holistic health.  Just as the trees put forth new leaves, we are invited to join in with all of nature in the cycles of growth and renewal.  Hildegard’s viriditas describes nothing less than a divine life force coursing through all the earth, and the color green is an expression of the joy to be a part of it. ​
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For me, observing those spring ephemerals pushing their green stalks and delicate flowers up through the matted carpet of last year’s dead leaves evokes that same feeling of happiness to be alive and a part of something greater than oneself.  Each of those blooms seems to me a small miracle, a reminder that life is something special and sacred to be cherished.  I feel Hildegard’s viriditas taking hold of both my studio practice and my inner life as we enter this spring.  This collection of pottery is in a new colorway, with new forms, and new plant designs painted on them!  It feels fresh in a way that my work has not felt for some time, a direct result of cultivating a greening force in my own mind and spirit, and I think it shows in the pieces.

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The images in this post are a sampling from my first round of Spring Ephemeral pots in new shades of green.  I love the variation that the wood kiln provides depending on where the pots are placed.  Some get more ash deposited on them, some more salt, and the level of reduction in the kiln affects color as well.  No matter where they were, each of the shades of green is pleasing to me, evoking the color of rich woods and verdant leaves.  I am working on the rest of the collection now: an assortment of pots for everyday use as well as pieces for special occasions and places of prominence.  All of the pieces will be painted with the delicate spring ephemerals so beloved in our mountain ecosystem.  I will announce the date of the sale in my email newsletter and on my instagram, so sign up or follow along to get first pick of these special pots!
​ 

Perhaps these pots will call to mind familiar friends whose names you know well: bloodroot, trillium, trout lily, and the like.  Or maybe they'll invite you to take your mug outdoors and enjoy the spring air after a winter spent inside.  To me, these
 pieces commemorate the special experience of discovering something new in the earth and in the self. 
​I hope that while using these pots, you are filled with viriditas my friends!

Viriditas
St. Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1179)
translated by Gabriele Uhlein


I am the one whose praise
echoes on high.
I adorn all the earth.
I am the breeze that nurtures all things
green.
I encourage blossoms to flourish
with ripening fruits.
I am led by the spirit to feed
the purest streams.
I am the rain
coming from the dew
that causes the grasses to laugh
with the joy of life.
I call forth tears.
​I am the yearning for good.
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13 Comments

A New Season

11/29/2021

9 Comments

 
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“Uchinakabiki haru kuru kaze no iro nare ya hi wo hete somuru aoyagi no ito

Is it the color of the wind that comes with spring-the threads of the green willow are dyed greener with each passing day”

-Willow Poem for the First Month, Fujiwara Teika 

“To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven”

-Turn! Turn! Turn!, The Byrds 

If the past year has taught me anything, it is that not only the natural world, but one’s inner world goes through a changing of the seasons.  Seasons of joy and of doubt, of activity and rest, of contentment and of longing.  The first fall frost will come no matter how much we wish for just a few more warm days, and similarly the seasons of one’s life will change as constantly as the moon.  You can grumble about the cold, or find beauty in the patterns of ice on panes of glass, or a frosty field glowing ethereally in the morning sun.  Working in harmony with, rather than fighting against the seasons, both physical and internal, provides opportunities to learn about ourselves and appreciate the hidden beauty in all things.  

I have been fascinated by the changing of the seasons since a young age.  Growing up in Virginia, I remember joyfully discovering the first signs of spring.  Like a detective, with sharpened senses I would catch a whiff of that wet smell of the ground thawing, and later the fruitiness of wild grape hyacinths by the river.  Glimpses of purple wood violets, white grass lilies, and the ubiquitous yellow daffodils that escaped the confines of the garden years ago to take root in wilder provinces.  The sound of burbling water and distant turkey gobbles.  The taste of a nettle pie, only made once a year.  The delicious touch of a warm breeze after a long winter.  Everywhere I have lived I’ve gone through the ritual of observing the plant and animal harbingers of each new season.  Here in the Smoky Mountains, I find no greater pleasure than revisiting my favorite hiking spots to watch the trilliums and trout lilies come up in spring, to pick wild blackberries and sun myself in a field of bee balm and mountain mint in the summer, to see the glorious leaf colors on the Blue Ridge Parkway in autumn, and to watch birds foraging for winter berries and pine cone nuts in the winter conifers. Each leaf and bud, flower and seed, each migrating bird is something made all the more precious by its fleetingness. The seasons keep me grounded in the earth and in my body, appreciating the transience of life and looking forward to the beauty that is to come.

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​In the spirit of embracing nature’s seasons as well as a new season in my life and business, I will be doing something different in 2022.  Instead of having random shop updates, I will be releasing special collections themed around the plants, birds, and pollinators unique to each season.  This idea has been brewing in my brain for some time, but I am finally organized enough to act on it now!  The decoration on my pots is already heavily influenced by the things I see out on my walks and hikes, but this new model gives more intentionality to my work (as well as more excuses to get outside and see what’s popping up in the woods!)  Each season I will focus on a different theme, and share observations and memories that make it special to me.  These pieces will serve as a touchstone to remind one to stay present in each season of life.

I can trace my interest in having pots that correlate to the seasons back to a trip to the Freer Gallery of Art at the Smithsonian Institute.  Each year during the Pottery on the Hill show that I have been involved with for the past ten years in DC, the invited artists take a trip to the Freer Gallery to look at it’s incredible collection of Asian ceramics.  In one particularly memorable visit, we went down into collections, where we were able to handle pottery from all time periods on a special foam table, some going back thousands of years.  I couldn’t explain it at the time, but the piece that really captured my attention was a small incense box made by Ogata Kenzan, brightly painted with a crane and chrysanthemums in the style of the Edo period.  What struck me was that the piece was designated for the “tenth month”, a reference to a sequence of poems by medieval era Kyoto courtier, Fujiwara Teika (1162–1241)  This sequence, Birds and Flowers of the Twelve Months, presents a poem for a flower and bird associated with each month.  The tenth month incense box was part of a series of boxes decorated with different motifs for each month, explained curator Louise Allison Cort.  These poems inspired not only ceramics, but also painting and even clothing in the Japanese court.  They also inspired me.
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Fast track to a few years later, and I am finally a full time potter.  After a year with several challenging seasons, I am now hopefully anticipating the future.  I am finally in a place where I can intentionally chart a course for my business instead of being swept along by deadlines, and I am looking forward to seeing the new ideas that spring forth from having this freedom!  If you’d like to dive into this journey with me, I am offering a Four Seasons Mug Subscription so you too, like the Japanese courtiers, can have a set of pots to complement each season!  Or wait until next year when I launch the first Spring collection to pick from a variety of forms and designs.  I am even planning to add some new colors to my palette (Teika’s willow poem for the first month is a giveaway for my new spring color!).  Email subscribers will get the first news of the new collection launch dates, and possibly early access to shop, so head over to the contact section of my site to subscribe if this kind of thing is your cup of tea!  I can’t wait to spend the winter dreaming up new ideas for these seasonal collections for 2022!

May you gracefully embrace each of life’s new seasons!

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    Slinging mud and chasing beauty in the Smoky Mountains.  ​

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