Kathie Lingle's Work-Life Blog

Joseph and the Amazing Monochrome Clay Pot

Sept. 11, 2007 — In the aggregate, American workers seem to be missing the point of paid time off. Some actually take pride in not using all of the vacation time to which they are entitled. Never mind the research suggesting that men who don’t take vacation die earlier at significantly higher rates than their more relaxed co-workers. My personal approach to time off is just the opposite. I strive for an optimal level of rejuvenation by immersing myself in experiences that take me as far away from my usual routines as possible.

In my case, this doesn’t necessarily mean traveling around the globe. It’s more about an internal journey; some unusual happening that provides surprising insight into another culture. This most recent vacation did not disappoint. The destination was a seven-hour drive into the neighboring state of New Mexico, and the culture was Native American.

I left for vacation feeling crushed by that frantic, overwhelmed, I-can’t-possibly-leave-and-get-everything-done sensation that is my best indicator that time off is very much needed. I have returned with the realization that the world can be a much simpler, potentially calmer place than I perceive it to be, and I feel up to the many challenges that didn’t go away in my absence. I think this approximates the definition of renewal or resilience, a hot topic in work-life circles because of its beneficial impact on absenteeism and mental health, so let me explain how this works – for me. It is mostly Joseph’s doing. Since I didn’t know Joseph before this trip, let me back up a step.

Every summer for at least a dozen years, my husband and I have attended Indian Market in Santa Fe, the largest juried exhibit and sale of Native American handicrafts. However, this is no ordinary American-style sales transaction, given that the most traditional Native American artisans believe that their spirit literally enters their work as they create it. We unexpectedly gained a deeper appreciation for the uniquely non-commercial aspect of Indian Market, as this year for the first time, we stepped behind the scenes and joined the ranks of volunteers who help ensure the smooth implementation of this huge event. 

One of our assignments involved returning art objects to their creators beginning at 4 a.m. on the day Indian Market began, so that the artists have all their wares in their booths in time for the official opening at 7 a.m. This is accomplished by having the artists return to the central location where they dropped off their art work for the judging process the day before. They produce a receipt, you help them locate their artwork, and they sign (sometimes only with their identifying mark or seal, if they cannot write) to verify the safe return of their work, which they carry off to sell in their booth.  Simple, right?  Well, I wasn’t prepared for the drama that ensued. They don’t know they have won an award (if any) until pick-up, and are generally so overwhelmed by emotion when they see a first, second or even a third-place ribbon, that I frequently found myself at the receiving end of hugs, helped wipe away numerous tears, listened to stories about what this win meant to the artist, their livelihood and their family, and learned that these hard-working, incredibly gifted people had mostly been up all night firing that last pot or beading yet another deerskin vest or quiver. They were excited; gleefully checking out each other’s work, and even more tired than me and my husband, who arose at 3 a.m. to greet them.  
  
This went on for hours until almost everything was checked out. Only a few objects remained by the time the booths opened, the most notable of which was an extraordinary all-black incised pot that bore two ribbons, a much-coveted first prize and a salmon-hued ribbon that signified Best in Division – a huge win indeed. The artist was Joseph N., a gifted potter from the Santa Clara pueblo, one of a distinguished lineage of potters, since this and all native crafts are passed down from generation to generation to everyone in the extended clanship network who has the interest and talent to carry on the ancient traditions.

By 8:30 a.m., our volunteer team of 18 had dwindled down to four, and we all wondered why Joseph had not come to retrieve his amazing pot, worth a great deal. Other members of his extended family and come and gone. Time was wasting and money was on the line.

Eventually he appeared, and I was the one to intercept him. I had been eyeing his pot with keen interest, since we collect them, and happen to own one by another of his kinsmen that also won first prize the year we purchased it. Joseph explained that he had been both working and celebrating last night, so he had slept in later than anticipated.  When he saw that his pot had won the two highest honors, he was undone, and it took me awhile to get him to stop wandering in circles, alternately muttering and rejoicing. In the process of calming him down, I asked him what price he was going to ask for his pot, with a half-baked thought of buying it myself, even though my husband and I had agreed in advance that we weren’t making any significant purchases this year. Joseph appeared disoriented at this question, and it became clear he hadn’t thought about an answer. Could it possibly be that the joy for him was literally contained in the process of producing such a magnificent work of art and garnering the respect of his formidable peer group?  He named an absurdly low sum, which he could tell by my reaction I considered way off the mark. To my astonishment, I found myself engaging in price consulting with him, suggesting that he check in with his many family members who were busily selling their pots by now, and could give him the best advice about the market. Meanwhile, I was absorbing my surprise that this renowned, almost legendary family of potters didn’t seem to spend time discussing pricing together. Pricing obviously wasn’t the key point of this exercise. How odd, to my way of thinking!

Fast-forward a few hours. When my husband and I got off duty later in the morning, we visited Joseph at his booth. There he was, and there was the stunning black monochrome incised pot, glistening like a beacon in the warm sunlight. Turns out he had listened to my advice to sell high, but only after asking his kinfolk for some guidance. He happily shared with us the news that he had sold it for a very high price – a price it was worth. A price we could never afford. 

There is an article today in WFC Resources Manager’s Quarterly about how “work-life balance leads to ethical behavior.” Maybe so. I know first-hand that it can certainly lead to some extraordinarily centering vacation experiences that recharge my batteries.

Comments

Sept. 11, 2007
I love your blogs - casual, fun, informal (well written!) -- and thanks so much for the mention.
- Susan Seitel, President, WFC Resources

The opinions expressed are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of WorldatWork and its affiliate, Alliance for Work-Life Progress (AWLP).