These stoneware precipices
and porcelain drawbridges
Heaved up in tectonic tumble
always anticipating cymbals
but delivering silence.
This is the territory I inhabit.
In settling my eye on the banality of the kitchen, I consciously elevate it to the level of consideration that oil painting has historically claimed. This is my territory. These quiet monuments are still life, self-portrait, landscape. Hence, the square. The margins of the kitchen are much like the enclosure of the square. It’s a tight space; easily crowded, seeking resolution from clutter.
Mothers of every generation have found in these confines the generator of creative output. There is a freedom here – the license to create and destroy. There is drudgery – the repeated banality of rot and scum, of others’ spit and scrapings. There is also achievement: The guest-worthy dinner; the birthday cake paraded out by candle-lit singers; sparkling dishes dripping onto a wiped counter. Dishes are a useful illustration of the wide-ranging tasks that fall to Mother: Few have not grappled with these objects, developed a relationship with this space. Mine is mostly positive. It is the kingdom I reign. Yet, at times, it seems to rule me. I get behind; or maybe my family gets ahead. Things pile up.
Noël Joy Ash 