Pretty Things

Mr. Starlet and I have a punk(in). She's tiny. She's beautiful. She drools. She often stinks. And she's infinitely curious.

When we had occasion to visit Uptown Shelby yesterday, I promised Punk an afternoon of art and local culture. Nevermind that to her a stationary ceiling fan is a piece of art worthy of lengthy admiration.

With Punk strapped securely in her stroller and along with her 50+ pounds of baby-caring "essentials", we made our way to the Cleveland County Arts Council.

And that's where our afternoon of admiring "pretty things" nearly came to a halt.

Despite the lack of signage, I found what I could only assume was the handicap ramp, yet it was littered with an uncollected newspaper, an old broom, and some planters that made it appear unnavigable (and it nearly was). I apologized to Punk and resigned to window shopping around the Courthouse Square.

Moments later, we found ourselves in front of Buffalo Creek Gallery. Inside, we made the acquaintance of one very talented local potter, Tricia Woodland.

Buffalo Creek Gallery is a cooperative art gallery, run by the same artists who display in it. It was merely good fortune that brought Punk and I into the gallery while it was under Tricia's care.

Normally when in art galleries, I try to appear unassuming. Achieve a level of invisibility. Avoid engaging in any conversations whatsoever. After all, I am still rueing the day when in another local gallery I confidently inquired about the price of a painting I admired and was told a figure that was easily three times my then checking account balance.

However, when you're loudly wrangling an overburdend stroller over the threshhold of a very quiet art gallery, you're bound to be noticed. And notice us Tricia did.

To my surprise, however, Tricia proved to be equally unassuming herself. It was only toward the end of our visit that she informed me that she was a potter. It was only when I asked about her work that she pointed out her display.

Brilliant blue vases and plates. Whimsical wide-mouthed frogs. A brown and white glazed dish with a ruffled edge. The best of nature captured in each piece.

We talked about her inspirations. She described a haven of a studio in Cherryville. When I asked if she envisions what each piece she makes might be used for, she said she doesn't--beauty and function is the eye of the beholder. If you want to hang a piece, she'll happily tell you what type of equipment you need to do so. If you plan to use a piece as a serving dish for shrimp, she'll grin in appreciation.

Just don't immediately declare of her wide-mouthed frogs, "That's what you put a sponge in!" This elicits from her a sigh and a grimace. Like me, Tricia has a personal vendetta against germs, especially bacteria-ridden sponges. No, her frogs are trained for much greater things. Perhaps as a candy dish. Or even better, a planter for a Venus Flytrap. (How appropriate!)

Tricia is an artist worth watching. Her art worth adorning any home.

Plus, she saved Punk's and my afternoon outing by calling over to the Arts Council to ensure that someone would be able to assist us if we tried accessing the building again. We did. There was.

And in that moment, I learned to not only appreciate art, but the artist behind it.