Granny recaptured the cracked. And in doing so, she taught me how to recapture myself.
She handed me a shard. "Hold it," she said. granny recaptured cracked
This was never more evident than with her "Cracked Series"—a collection of bowls, vases, and plates that had collapsed on the wheel, shattered in the kiln, or simply fallen from her tired hands. While other potters would sweep the shards into a bin, Granny would spend weeks sorting them. She called it "the puzzle of the broken." She would take a fragment of a blue sky, a piece of a green field, and a shard of a red sun, and she would reassemble them into a bowl that had never existed before. She didn’t hide the cracks; she recaptured them. She filled them with gold, silver, or crushed lapis lazuli. The result was always more beautiful than the original had ever been. Granny recaptured the cracked
She passed away last spring, sitting in her garden, a half-finished calligraphy brush still in her hand. We buried her with one shard from the "Cracked Series"—the smallest piece, the one with the most gold. "Hold it," she said