Mind Ramblings and Connections

Nancee Meeker-1951-2022

“she’s got everything she needs, she’s an artist, she don’t look back”

I woke rested and peaceful and immediately cast my eyes out my surrounding bedroom windows. The south facing window supports two plants, a geranium I originally planted at my Mother’s retirement apartment garden and later transplanted to my home when she died, the other a Brazilian Iris gifted to me by my plant ecstatic friend Jane Bodine. The Brazilian Iris begins to bloom anytime between now and mid March. Behold! The first plump bud will open today. I never know until I open my eyes in the morning. A flower lasts only for a day and the fragrance is indescribable.

The reoccurring image that has been inviting itself into my psyche is that of the the broken pottery bowl mended with gold. This idea of making the broken beautiful. Of not hiding but shining. Repair. The world feels so out of control with violence: Ukraine, Gaza/Israel/guns guns guns. How this can be repaired and filled with gold? I really don’t know.

But it did get me thinking about a potter I met in 1977 named Nancee Meeker. Nancee was selling her work at the first Philadelphia Craft Show and I was stopped in my tracks when I entered her booth. The level of quiet, spirit, alignment, the best of what human’s are capable of was alive in every piece of her work. Nancee possessed a modest unassuming quality and I felt a warmth and connection with her immediately. One of those times when you feel you have been easily invited in to witness someone’s radiant nature. I had little disposable income but I stretched to buy a little ming type raku fired bowl as a Christmas gift for my Father. It was an almost pearlescent grey white with a simple black foot.

I don’t have any idea what my Dad thought of this little bowl gift in and of itself. I do think he understood that I thought it was very special. I’m sure he found it more comprehensible then the book of Allen Ginsburg poems I gave him for his birthday. I still remember underling the words, “be kind to the Chinese psalm in your chest.”

The bowl sat on a shelf next to my Dad’s lazyboy chair where he watched a lot of TV. I don’t know how it broke but I was able to rescue the pile of shards from my parents trashcan.  For some years it sat on my altar. I don’t remember when or how I decided I was too much of a keeper. Maybe it was to make more room for two little sons. It hurts me to say I tossed it; especially now with these reoccuring thoughts and images of Kintsugi.

I had looked Nancce up some years back and read that for health muscular reasons Nancee was no longer making pottery. I felt sad and sent her a little prayer that she was finding joy and meaning in her new life’s work. My hunch was that she was unstoppable in her ability to access deep meaning and equanimity.

I looked her up again today. This day of my first Brazilain flower opening. This day of blue skies and Cat Powers signing Dylan. Nancee died almost a couple of  years ago. Just one year older than me. Poignant. Shine on Nancee. Thank you for touching my life and the lives of many with your beauty.

“She never stumbles, she’s got no place to fall”

February 16, 2024