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<\/a><\/p>\nWe arrived and were offered Moroccan tea with cookies, then proceeded to converse in a hodge-podge of languages. \u00a0James was a big hit, throwing out his scarecrow arms and legs, mugging for his new friends. \u00a0They tried to teach him how to ask for manly tea in a caf\u00e9, and when James entered into the spirit of the joke, trying to pronounce the words with macho enthusiasm, they laughed till they cried. \u00a0The children looked on, baffled at their father and our hosts alike. \u00a0Lalla Aisha’s grown son told us how relieved he was that we could stand a joke. \u00a0“Some visitors, they come and sit here with their long faces. \u00a0We’re not always sure they’re human.”<\/p>\n
The lesson started with a trench in the field behind the house and workshop. \u00a0Grab some clumps of dirt (also known as raw clay). These stones produce the slip and pigment. It’s dark by the time we’re done, and we drive slowly over the rutted path. \u00a0Hayat has driven us here in her 4×4, since our car would not be able to manage the road. \u00a0There’s some conflict about the piste<\/em>: Lalla Aisha wants her neighbors to contribute to repairing the road but they say she should bear all the cost, since she’s the one who has foreigners coming to visit. \u00a0In the dusk, some boys on a nearby hill throw a rock at the car. \u00a0Hayat’s son shouts at them, and Hayat tells him sharply to be still and quiet. \u00a0“Just stupid boys,” she says. \u00a0But there’s a bit of tension \u00a0in the car, and as we take the road home, through the dark now, Hayat is concentrating hard on the road. \u00a0I think about how much courage and agility it must take for her to do the work she does, translating between cultures, living on the cusp between comparatively wealthy visitors and impoverished neighbors, and I’m grateful for the charm and graciousness with which she has welcomed and cared for us.<\/p>\n We had originally\u00a0decided not to visit Lalla Aisha to see her ceramics because the village where she lives was over an hour away from the village where we were staying. \u00a0(“Lalla” is an honorific, something between “Ma’am” and “Lady.”) \u00a0We didn’t want to spend 2-3 hours driving on rough roads. \u00a0But James was recuperating slowly, … Continue reading Lalla Aisha: women’s ceramics in the Rif<\/span>
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\nBreak up the clumps into fine clay dust.
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\nSift out any remaing lumps.
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\nAdd water to make… clay.
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\nKnead the clay to make it smooth and consistent. \u00a0Think about what shape you’d like to make.
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\nOur whole family wants to make mugs.
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\nJeremy gets a little extra help from Lalla Aisha, which means he has time to make a candlestick as well.
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\nAfter the pieces are made, and as they begin to dry a little, Lalla Aisha explains how to decorate them with slip and pigments: both of these made from dirt or stone she has dug up a little farther from the house.<\/p>\n
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\nThe mug is covered with slip before being painted with a darker pigment.
\n<\/a>Dark stone is crushed, then water is added to make a pasty paint.
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\nPaintbrushes are made from animal hair with clay handles.
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\nThe work is absorbing and lots of fun, even if James’s mug is the only one to pass inspection. \u00a0(“We might actually fire and sell this one!”)
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\nWe won’t be taking our less polished work with us: there’s no time to fire and finish the pieces. \u00a0Instead, we have the simple pleasure of the process.
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