I’m grateful for little bowls. I started collecting them years ago when I was cooking a lot of Indian Cuisine, and needed about a bunch of separate ingredient piles to add at different times to each of the various dishes I’d cook for a single meal. They’re hard to find these days. I’m grateful for all the potters whose little bowls grace my cabinet. I bought some from Michael McKenna of Smiling Son Pottery when he lived in Paonia; a few of those have broken, but I treasure the rest. He’s the only potter I’ve come across who routinely makes little bowls.
My mom made the bottom bowl here, which is marked with shell imprints from a trip to Sanibel Island when I was a teenager, back when she had her fling with pottery. I’m grateful for all the bowls and vases I have left that were made by her hands. I’m grateful for Kristin who made two when I asked, and for a couple I bought at the Creamery, and the rest whose makers’ names escape me now. I’m grateful there are people who love to spin globs of clay on a wheel and craft them into little bowls, grateful for the kilns and the fuels to fire, and that I’ve been able to afford to buy a small stack of little bowls through the years.