麻豆约拍

I bought a pot last week, while I was on holiday in Cornwall. It鈥檚 a simple pot: six inches of heavy stoneware, with a muted, speckled, grey-green glaze and faceted sides. There鈥檚 something ancient about it, something almost Japanese. But that鈥檚 enough Antiques Roadshow. Point is, it鈥檚 on my desk now, giving me enormous pleasure after a week of sea-swimming and pasties in the far west.

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Now, one of the most pleasing things about the pot is that I know who made it.听听It came from the hand of a potter called Ruth Rodda. Thank you, Ruth. But Ruth鈥檚 pot sits alongside other things, also handmade, that come from the hands of people entirely unknown to me: a stone carving; a wooden box; two cast-iron lobsters. And those things are themselves surrounded by other stuff, even less identifiably the work of an individual: pencils; my clothes; the radio; countless other bits and bobs. And it struck me, as I set Ruth鈥檚 pot among them, that the lives of every one of those things have involved the lives of countless women and men dreaming them up, gathering materials, making them and bringing them to me.

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In the Bible, there鈥檚 an artist called Bezalel, whom God 鈥榝illed with ability, intelligence, and knowledge in every kind of craft鈥�.听听But Bezalel was surrounded by other makers, unknown and unnamed, and the story says that God gave 鈥榮kill to all the skilful鈥�; and together they made beautiful things and the people brought offerings in thanks. Thanks are important. But I reckon that since it鈥檚 become so easy to get stuff, so matter-of-fact, I鈥檝e found it equally easy to forget that people and their stories are hidden in everything that surrounds me; actual, real, human people skilfully shearing sheep in Australia, digging iron-ore in Russia, sawing wood in Canada, sewing jeans in Bangladesh, packing boxes in Rugeley, driving vans in Peckham, every one of them connecting me to their world.

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So, I hope, when next I look at Ruth鈥檚 pot, or any of my endless clutter, I鈥檒l remember those people and remember to be thankful for the miraculous thread they鈥檝e spun, binding me to them; not just to the world but to a person; to people to whom skill has been given.

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