19 years of the Marginalian in 19 Ceramic sentences – supporter of margicinain
Marginan was born on October 23, 2006 as a kind of field notebook in my walk in the wilderness of life, looking for Signposts. We live in a decimal world that loves round Anniversaries, values that cool the absolute trail of zero. But for me, 19 is a more meaningful number than 20.
I was 19 years old when I left Bulgaria, then the poorest country in Europe and the most stupid place per square kilometer. I was leaving alone, with $ 800. My family was united, to start a new life from another continent, among different cultures, among the promise that there was an artistic education that I never taught the way of life. Instead, I found myself in an industrial model of learning that teaches the mind to be a machine for getting standardized tests while putting this spirit completely. Working four jobs to pay, very tired and confused to make friends, I was lonely and lost and sunk in deep depression.
“You think that your pains and your heartbreak have never existed in the history of the world, but then he read,” James Baldwin (whom I had never heard of) was seen by looking at his life.
And so I learned.
I read Aristotle (who had been with my grandmother since I was a child) and Susan Sontag (whom I had never heard of), they found my conviction great children's books about the philosophies of living in secret), they lost Leaves of grass.
My mind became personal in the games of what I learned. I started writing about it, then on it, then on the other side, and that was it Marginan.
To mark its nineteen years, I did something different from the usual creativity of the year of finding my life – the life of life, sentences and ceramics – to bark the thoughts of clay that have been with me, I still forget them well, I still forget, I still trust anew. Some of these sentences are from my published books, others are from others Margicinan Essays, some from my birds, some from the private pages of my books. All the things I wish someone told me in the beginning called humanity.
Ceramics seemed the right path – clay teaches more about the art of holding and letting go, the kiln teaches more about the quantum of relationships. I experimented with various letterforms, from children's rubber stamps to vintage letterpress type, until finally settling on a century-old brass alphabet for leather carving that seemed to make the clay the happiest.
Each vessel is different, each imperfect, each – like life itself – a work of time and love, intentional and unexpected, and an unexpected opportunity. Nothing but it turned out to be well aimed.
While every human life makes its own meaning of the act of living, under it with the same hope and shy hope, the same shy passions and constant cries – we all learn the same lessons, from different students.
In honor of this skin, I gave you bowls – As in the Urn of life, I will allow opportunities to solve the disparity of measure – many people, few bowls – by angering them. To enter, make a donation in any amount that is convenient for you, but round it off with a decimal .19, whether it is $1.19 or $1,000.19. (This will help me separate the URN raffle from the regular donations.) On November 23rd, those who are still upset will receive a private note from me and we will exchange loose atoms in the postal service. (And if they don't survive, it's a good reminder that every sentence explodes.)
