My first 9-5 job was as a potter’s apprentice.
I went into it imagining my throwing skills would blossom, but in reality it was my biceps that grew, not my artistic chops. The potter who hired me, in addition to his pots, sold clay and glazes. So I spent the majority of my days that summer carrying 40-pound bags of clay to other potter’s cars and measuring chemicals for glaze mixtures.
Fragments of What Was ©2025 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor & knotless netting on paper, 6 x 8 inches
Poof! went my romantic notions of spending my time at the wheel. I left that job mostly having learned that I was glad to be headed to college. And while I didn’t get very far in becoming a potter, I’ve never lost my attraction for things made of clay.
The Futility of Mending Space ©2025 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor & knotless netting on paper, 6 x 8 inches
One of my favorite books from that era is M.C. Richards’ Centering. In it she relates the following parable which has stayed with me as a wonderful philosophical riddle:
There are many marvelous stories of potters in ancient China. In one of them a noble is riding through a town and he passes a potter at work. He admires the pots the man is making: their grace and a kind of rude strength in them. He dismounts from his horse and speaks with the potter. “How are you able to form these vessels so that they possess such convincing beauty?” “Oh,” answers the potter, ” you are looking at the mere outward shape. What I am forming lies within. I am interested only in what remains after the pot has been broken.”
I was recently reminded of this story when I dropped a beloved hand-painted clay vase that I picked up at a flea market years ago. What heartbreak! I couldn’t bring myself to toss it out so I ordered a kintsugi kit to put the pieces back together, hoping to give it a second life.
Reconstructing Silence ©2025 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor & knotless netting on paper, 8 x 6 inches
But in the meantime, I’ve been painting the vase’s shards with dramatic shadows, incorporating knotless netting to accentuate the resulting forms and to insert a suggestion of repair or mending. The outcome is that the memory of the original remains intact, acknowledging what was while simultaneously embracing what is.
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Speaking of memory…
I’m over the moon to share that these latest netted paintings will be among a varied selection of my work chosen to be part of Art at the Kent this fall in their group show that will investigate memory.
Mark your calendar now to be sure to visit one of our state’s most beloved annual exhibitions, presented in a truly magical Vermont setting during one of the loveliest seasons of the year.
Oh Betsy, I adore these! And I’m thrilled you’re at the Kent this year. You will most definitely sell all of these. Hope you can display the shards with them. Brava and congratulations.
You’ve just made my day! Thanks, Dian!
Congratulations on showing at Art at the Kent! I’m eager to see this work displayed.
I appreciate how the stitched netting brings focus to the detailed shards. An effective combination.
Thanks, Lynn. The other thought I’ve had is how the pattern of the netting mimics a crackle glaze. Something else to consider/explore.
LOVE this. That said, I grew up in a home where my father loved epoxy so many broken things—kitchenware, favorite old vases, even the mast of his sailboat and, horrifyingly, a 15th century Chinese pottery horse—all fell victim to the forever and often unsightly repairs. So, I look forward to seeing more of your work, whether in pieces or reassembled with the magic of kintsugi. Maybe the world next??
Also, so wonderful to know you’ll be at the Kent!!
Oh my! Epoxy gone wild :^) Thanks for sharing that great memory!
Congrats! Congrats!
Thank you, thank you!
You are quite honestly just the most amazing human. I sadly was unable to make it to In Full Bloom due to family changes and transitions, but oh my friend, watching your evolution in life and art is like watching a garden burst into life. Your colors are vibrant and your gifts bountiful! Thank you for bringing the light…
What can I possibly say, but thank you – from the bottom of my heart. The admiration goes both ways.