Tribute to a cup

In a discourse on the impermanence of things, Thai Zen Master Achaan Chah, advises us not to worry about breaking a glass.

        You say, "Don't break my glass!" Can you prevent something
        that's breakable from breaking? It will break sooner or later.
        If you don't break it, someone else will. If someone else
        doesn't break it, one of the chickens will!... Penetrating the

        truth of things, [we realize] this glass is already broken.

My coffee cup

Each morning I drink my coffee from a cup I've had for ten years, given to me by a lady friend from Korea, a culture with a long tradition of appreciation for handmade pottery. I value the cup very much and so I offer this tribute before it meets its eventual fate as shards upon the floor.

The lady and I went our separate ways, so my attachment to the cup is partly sentimental, but more so because it is well-made and eminently functional. During my "back to the land" phase from 1976 to 1984, I tried unsuccessfully to make it as a potter, so I feel qualified to point out the merits of the humble pottery cup.

Naïve shoppers think a coffee cup should be mug-like, thick and heavy. Not so. A good cup should be only about a quarter of an inch thick, substantial enough to hold and transfer warmth to your hand, but not so thick as to rob the coffee of its heat, nor so heavy it's an effort to lift.

The lip of the cup should flare outward and meet your lips with a yen-and-yang fit that feels natural and lets the coffee flow evenly from the cup. The sides should be more or less vertical; a bulbous shape requires too much upward tilt to drink the last drops of coffee.

The handle should be generous enough to grasp with at least two fingers. The glaze and any decoration should be simple and complement the color of coffee.

Bottom of cup

Appreciation for my particular cup is enhanced by the obvious fact that it was formed on a wheel by a very experienced potter. It was apparently created quickly and without fussiness. The spiral of rings are uniform and tight. Though the cup has a grainy feel, the lip has been smoothed with a small strip of chamois.

Looking at the bottom of the cup, I am in awe of the potter's skill. After being formed, the bottom of the cup was beveled with a wooden tool, cut off the wheel with a loop of twisted string, and stamped with the potter's mark. The organically simple handle, shaped by pulling, was added later when the cup was "leather hard", firm but not yet dry.

An oatmeal glaze, a simple decoration, and firing to stoneware temperature complete the process. The result: an aesthetically pleasing, sturdy and functional vessel for enjoying my morning coffee. It may be "already broken", but the cup will enjoy my utmost care to prolong that eventuality.

P.S.
During the cell phone photo shoot of the cup at the barn, Romeo (the dog) lurched at a mouse behind a large mirror leaning against the wall, which tipped and broke with a crash. An example of synchronicity? Hmmm...

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