Today we've been, I've been talking to a lot of people.
And one of the things that keeps reoccurring
is that when I work in clay, and I do that every day,
it is a part of who I am.
It's very difficult to spend time with a piece
and put all that you are, your emotions and your feelings,
how you were brought up into this piece, this form.
And then all of a sudden make the transition
of going to sell it in town or wherever,
and this has been happening for Pueblo people
for quite a long time now.
And I don't know.
I've never gotten used to of it.
And the first time I took my pieces to be sold,
it was such a shock because I was
dealing with a whole different standard
of the creative process.
I was dealing with a business, and to this day,
I don't think I'm really that comfortable with it.
So I had to write about it.
And this is called "Mud Woman's First Encounter with the World
of Money and Business."
"She unwrapped her clay figures, unfolding
the cloth each was nestled in carefully, almost
with ceremony.
Concerning herself with the specific curves
and bends and idiosyncrasies that made each piece her own.
Standing these forms upright, displaying them
from one side to the next, Mud Woman
could feel her pride surging upward
from a secret part within her, translating into a smile that
passed her lips.
All of this in front of the gallery owner.
After all the creations were unveiled,
Mud Woman held her breath.
The gallery owner peering from behind fashionable bifocals
examined each piece with an awareness
Mud Woman knew very little of.
The owner cleared her throat, asking, first of all, dear,
do you have a resume?
You know, something written that would identify you
to the public?
Who is your family?
Are any of them well known in the Indian art world?"
This is a true story.
[LAUGHTER]
"Mud Woman hesitated, trying desperately
to connect this business woman's voice with her questions
like a foreigner trying to comprehend the innuendos
of a new language.
So unexpected and somewhat intimidating,
the center of what Mud Woman knew to be real
was shifting with each moment in this gallery, the format
of this exchange with was a new dimension from what
was taken for granted at home, where the clay moist and smooth
waited to be rounded and coiled in sensuous shapes,
in a workroom Mud Woman and her man had built of Earth too.
All this struggled against a blaring radio
with poor reception and noon hour traffic.
Handling each piece, the merchant quickly
judged whether or not Mud Woman's work
would be a profitable venture.
Well, she began, your work is strangely different,
certainly not traditional Santa Clara pottery,
and I'm not sure there is a market
for your particular style, especially
since nobody knows who you are.
However, if for some reason you make it big,
I'll be the first to say I discovered you.
So I'll buy a few pieces, and we'll just see how it goes.
Without looking up, she opened a large black checkbook,
quickly scribbling the needed information
to make the gallery's check valuable.
Mud Woman hesitantly exchanged her work
for the unexpectedly smaller sum that wholesale prices dictate,
and after a few polite but obviously strained
pleasantries, Mud Woman left, leaving
behind her shaped pieces of Earth.
Walking against the honks of a harried lunch crowd,
Nan chu Kweejo, Clay Mother, then spoke.
Navi ayu, ti gin nau na muu, nai sa aweh kucha?
My daughter is this the way it goes, this pottery business?
Hearing this Mud Woman lowered her head,
walking against the crowd of workers returning from lunch.
Nan chu Kweejo's question clouded Mud Woman's vision
with a mist of lost innocence as she
left the city and the world of money and business behind."
[APPLAUSE]