Last Sunday, I read these words:

“In difficult times carry something beautiful in your heart.” – Blaise Pascal

That sentence felt like a sigh. The times are not easy and the thought of just keeping something beautiful in my heart felt like a relief – like something I could manage.

On Monday, I began watching The Great Pottery Throw Down again, a show modeled on the format of The Great British Bake Off (or The Great British Baking Show as it’s called in the United States). I discovered this show a few years ago and really enjoyed watching the potters’ creativity in action so I was excited to see a new season. I’ve done some ceramics in the past and truly respect how difficult it is not only working well in clay, but also artistically applying glazes, all of which can’t always guarantee a successful firing.

But one of the things that I always appreciated about the show and was reminded of again was judge and Master Potter, Keith Brymer Jones.

Keith not only offers really valuable feedback delivered kindly, but when viewing something beautiful, he often bursts into tears. It could be a piece that someone has made, or the fact that someone has tried their best, or is improving over time from challenge to challenge.

In an interview with The Guardian, Keith says this:

“We need to get back to an honest relationship with the natural materials we use in the world, an understanding of the craft that goes into making something, rather than expecting everything to be mass produced and cheap. This piece [a delicate espresso mug and saucer] was given to me by one of the potters on the first series, a guy called Nigel. He was a builder and he had a real issue with his other builder mates giving him jibes about being on the show. But he produced this incredibly delicate piece. It was such a surprise to have this work from him. I love that, in life, you don’t know when someone is going to surprise you like that, to totally defy your expectations. Isn’t that beautiful? I have to stop now otherwise I’ll start crying again.”

He cries because he personally knows what clay and ceramics have meant to him since he was 11 years old. He cries because he understands the hard work and passion the potters pour into every piece that begins with an unassuming bit of clay. Whether thrown, hand manipulated, and/or constructed from slab, Keith understands and appreciates that each piece reflects in some way the artist who dreamed it up and crafted it with love and care.

Sometimes I’m not as moved by what he sees in the pieces, but the moments that always get me are usually the ones when someone feels they’ve failed. The potter comes forward and their piece has not turned out the way they were hoping or expecting and they’re frustrated, disappointed and upset. In those moments, Keith usually says something along the lines of “but you didn’t give up and you kept at it.” And then he tears up. It’s not that it’s just about the finished product. It’s about the process of creating. It’s just the fact that this person standing before him loves the craft and wants to make wonderful things that chokes him up.

Watching Keith cry over things like a toast holder, a lamp, or even a toilet (yep!) somehow reminds me of goodness and gentleness. It fills me with hope and gratitude. It reminds me of the kind of person I want to be and the kind of things I’d like to witness in the world.

I want to live unafraid to burst into tears when something beautiful moves me.

I want to live with that kind of tenderness.

I want to live with that kind of openness.

I want to live surprised by the incredible beauty around and within.

I want to be moved by others’ gifts, perseverance, and victories.

I want to be so delighted that I weep for joy celebrating others’ achievements.

I want to celebrate the process of learning and growing in myself and in others.

I want to share with others the beauty and inspiration I experience in and through them.

It can seem terribly difficult to find beauty when the news is troubling, when we feel stressed, overwhelmed, or burdened, or when the things we normally enjoy seem to have lost their sparkle. Life’s circumstances (local or global) often ramp us up and make us feel like we ought to be doing more, better, or different in a thousand different directions all at once. Yet Keith models something else for us. He models appreciation for the little things – the things that it turns out are not really the little things, but the most important. And he models sharing how we feel and what has made an impact with those around us.

For Reflection:

• What was the last beautiful thing you encountered? What was it? Spend time thinking about the details?
• Think of a time when you were deeply moved. Where were you? What were you doing? Who were you with? What was important in that moment? What about that time has stuck with you the most?
• Has seeing another person overcome something struck an emotional chord with you? What about that resonated with you? What beauty was present in that struggle?
• What makes you feel more or less free to express awe, wonder, joy, or tears? Are there certain settings where you feel more or less safe to share unfiltered emotions and reactions?
• When was the last time you freely and exuberantly celebrated someone else’s achievements – without jealousy or feeling compelled to?
• Take time this week to be on the lookout for the ways beauty might surprise you. Where does it show up? Did you almost miss it or feel an urge to rush on from it to the next thing? Did you encounter something beautiful in the story or experience of someone else? How might you share that with them?
• When something impacts you emotionally, how do you take the time to process it? Journaling? Making art? Talking about it? Praying about it? Spending time in silence?
• How easy or difficult is it for you to share with another person the good you see in them? How might you take an opportunity to share with one person this week?

We may not respond in the same way Keith does when something really strikes us, but may we pause to take it in and allow ourselves to feel the raw emotion of it. And may we be unafraid to share how we feel with the people, places, and things that evoke life, beauty, and love in us.

© Annabelle P. Markey