Pieces of my art

6-26-2012

The other night I was sleeping. I had been reading and then got too sleepy for that, so I rolled over, turned off the lamp and that act woke me up just a little bit, so I settled in under my covers and relished how wonderful it was to be in bed when I'm tired and sleepy and wanting really to continue conscious for a while so that I could appreciate how wonderful it feels, but without realizing it I was drifting off to the pleasant thoughts of security and peace.

Then I was reminded that I own cats. The scream from the other room followed by, and overlapped by, the crash of something breaking on the tile floor jerked me awake and upright in bed at the same time. I've grown accustomed to them screaming at the cats outside the window after I'm in bed, but that is not generally accompanied by the sound of breakage. So, I got up and ran into the other room, because after all I do have neighbors upstairs and if I can hear every step they take I'm certain that they can hear my cats screaming at the tops of their feline voices and destroying everything I own. The thing was, the crashing and breaking kept going. It wasn't just one thing falling to the ground, it was a series of crashes. One of the cats came running past me into my bedroom with a plastic grocery bag following behind her as if it were chasing her the hell out of its territory.

In my room the cat (Raku) was under the bed, of course, so I had to pull it away from the wall to get at her, just to make sure she wasn't being strangled by the handles of the bag. I was only able to hold her long enough to get the bag off of her leg and make sure she was not dying, then she squirmed out of my hands and back under the bed. Then I had to find the other two and make sure they were okay. Carmela, the special cat, was watching with her crossed eyes huge in dismayed interest, standing – not sitting – with her nose in the air, looking around to see what was going on. Anastasia wasn't so easy to find, and honestly I don't remember where I did find her. But, she was fine and so it must have been only Raku who was having issues.

This is where it gets very confusing. I have no idea how all of this happened, even after I figured out what did happen.

My next job was to see what had broken. It was pottery, not glass. Good, less danger of sharp things to cut my feet. Then I just had to pray that it was from an artist who was still alive. (My cats have a fondness for breaking things that I can't replace.) I picked up the shards and collected them in my hand. They started on the other side of the living room and continued all the way to my bedroom, and there had been a couple of pieces in the bag that I freed Raku from. I recognized the art and the glazes, but it was late and I had been woken up and I couldn't figure out who it was. I was convinced that they had gotten into the closet and into a box and broken a Richella, but as I looked at it I realized that it – at least – wasn't one of hers.

Little by little I began to place the glaze with Michael Obranovich, a Dallas artist. It's from his Obsidian collection. I have a set of his plates and two coffee cups (had two coffee cups) and a few casseroles. I LOVE them. I could tell from the pieces of handle and the curve of the others parts that it was one of my coffee cups, though I could not for the life of me figure out how it got to a place that it could be broken. I'm certain that I did not leave it lying around in a plastic grocery bag. If it had been on the kitchen counter, how did the majority of the broken remains end up three feet away in front of the spare bathroom? I can tell why there was a trail of pieces across the room and why I kept hearing crashes. The cup was in the bag and as she ran it kept crashing against the tile floor, startling her even more. The bag was shredded and pieces were falling out as she ran. She must have screamed because the bag was attached to her and she couldn't get it off. But, where was the bag (I don't leave them around because cats can strangle themselves with them) and where was the cup and how did the cup get inside the bag?

Even having slept and looked at the situation from an awake state of mind I cannot figure it out. But, here are the pieces, next to its partner – still intact.

I'll write more later. Until then I remain,

Yours truly,

eArnie

P.S. If you would like to see Michael Obranovich's work you can visit his website here.