Ceramic tile means something else in this town. Not the lemon painted, blue ground, floor tiles that litter Neapolitan churches and homes, nor the glowing gold tiles with clay red grout on which bread rises and sauce is prepared, nor the terra-cotta roof tiles that are all one the same, pretty, yet otherwise uninteresting.
No. In this town, Ceramic tiles are special. They are a glittering, playful magic carpet ride on a warm early summers evening, enjoying ice cream and cookies, exploring the worlds of Spider-Man and Lion King under neon glow. They are a lively jazz band, light by the setting sun, playing their hearts away on the top of the most out of place convenience mart.
In this town, ceramic is wild, crazy, and funky. The strangest bird man, super hero dude thing, Holding a long, yet oddly bent staff, that may be useless, yet keeps us safe (and frightened) during the long winter nights. Or better yet, ceramic is a set of toilets covered in Genitalia That make an opening in the museums opening show, soon to be followed by table top sculpture of nothing yet totally everything.
Ceramic means home in this loving town. For it’s a place that exists on the corner of Alice and L, where families have grown for generations. Where memories are preserved in fluid colors, with little details of life preserved in the strangest of ways. With hands and feet on the walls, dog prints in the yard. It’s a place where some people live, but the whole town calls home, for its the palace of us all.
-w.w.h
