Circles

by Richard White

This article first appeared in Studio Potter, Volume 18, Number 2 (June 1990).
Copyright © 1990 by Studio Potter. All rights reserved.
May be reproduced with permission of Studio Potter.

To understand the need for circles, it is first necessary to understand why the rectangle is essential to our sense of the world around us. From the time we first stand on two feet, the orientation of our bodies as verticals and the ground as a horizontal is the most important relationship we use in negotiating and ordering the environment around us. Even our inner ear acts like a tiny level, keeping our sense of perpendicularity attuned.

It is the rectangle that forms the basic shape for most objects we use, manufacture, and live with. In fact, most of our social and organizational skills center around relating rectilinear shapes and volumes to each other. Those objects that cannot conform to this standard are boxed in rectangular cartons for ease in handling. Is it any wonder that two-dimensional design is taught only in relation to the rectangle of a sheet of paper? Or that paintings describe rectangular shapes? Or that sculpture of all sizes are plopped down on rectangular bases, regardless?

A drawing or painting has a built-in relationship with the floor, walls, and ceiling of the room in which it hangs. The molding and window jambs reinforce its shape. We are bothered if a painting hangs just a few degrees out of line, because it then no longer complements the architecture. Small-scale works are matted (with several concentric layers of matboard) and framed. The image is isolated, and even a sparse or subtle work becomes strong through repetition of the rectilinear format. Large-scale pieces need no frame, since they can easily dominate a wall just as a panel.

The circle, especially in ceramics, has none of these architectural advantages of shape and scale. It is intrinsically different from most architectural environments. It is soft, not hard. It is a porthole that reads the same if a boat pitches to the bow or to the stern (which is a good thing for a passenger's equilibrium). The circle symbolizes the whole. Like a halo, it transcends. It is vertigo, it spins, it drives, it is a wheel. It is a compass, a mandala, it draws you in, grabs and hypnotizes you. The architecture it relates to is celestial. It is complete, self-sufficient.

It is my premise that the circle needs its own set of supporting structures and rules in order to make an image work. The compositions presented here are points of departure for developing ideas in a logical manner without stifling growth, and are meant as visual and verbal aids for studying composition.

On Preparation

There is a similarity between Chinese brush painters, who prepare for several hours by meditating and grinding their ink before painting a picture, and the German Dadaists who forced themselves to stay awake three days before making their collages. It lies not in their method, but in their sense of limits, their awareness of the need for special ritual, special preparation. This preparation is meticulous. Years of practice are necessary in every case of seeming effortlessness and unselfconsciousness. There is little spontaneity in art.

The potter, partially because of his speed and ease in making forms with the wheel, often gravitates toward spontaneous methods of decorating his work. He jumps right in with no other thought than that he has but one chance for his gesture to work and he must not hesitate. An accurate impulse, however, is not always enough. Sometimes the gesture, though it feels sublime, fails. The failure is in the color (how can I paint when all the colors change in the fire?), or in the composition, or in the gesture itself. Only with preparation can one work through these problems without having to rely blindly on creativity to make each piece a competent if not masterful one. Preparation need not drag the spontaneity out of the work. Realistic limits can free you by letting you get on with it without the confusion or indecision inherent in too many choices.

One of the great stumbling blocks of the potter is his expertise, his practiced ease in creating graceful, beautiful form. It is like a magic process where, as his skills increase, his eye itself is transformed and he sees his pots in an ever more sophisticated way. His feel for relationships, foot to body, shoulder to rim, become more assured, more subtle, almost without his notice.

He is dealing with more than form and texture. Often his forms need color or design to make them complete. Perhaps just the subtle flashing of a casually placed shard protecting a portion of the piece is what is needed. Maybe a figurative narrative is called for, or a set of personal images, or a pattern. Given the rather tenuous premise that pottery is the marriage of painting and sculpture, the potter's problem of finishing his work successfully is greater than either discipline, since the problems of both must be dealt with.

The modern potter has no coherent tradition of two-dimensional treatment to draw from. In the McLuhan generation of ceramics, Hollywood billboards and ancient Greek story vases exist side by side, competing for attention. Though the potter may be trained and sophisticated in the ways of making pottery, there is no comparable set of step-by-step techniques for him to refer to in decorating that same pottery.

So let us grind our ink, select our brushes and sponges and patterns and tools, above all practice even our most awkward brush strokes a hundred times, set our limits as tightly as we can stand, and then let loose.

The Octagons

A. A splatter is a direct record of action. It is urgent. The framework is a stretched octagon. It is so strong that it allows even a rather weak and uninspired splatter to look strong, exciting, and spontaneously correct (at least at first glance). The small circle is there to try to take some of the compositional weight away from the splatter. Robert Motherwell. Oriental calligraphy.

B. This is about as static and stable as the civil defense symbol, but it holds a fascination nevertheless because of its reversal. Umbrella. A Maltese cross. Italian marble.

C. I think the X or cross is the real basis for the power of the octagon, though I don't automatically make that connection. The X is the archetype of all symbols, at the same time being the ultimate in visual cliche. How it is used, and after what kind of consideration, is the ruling factor. The two opposite aspects are exemplified in John Mason's ceramic sculptures on the one hand, and a cartoon treasure map on the other.

The Figure

A. This composition is a take-off on a Mimbres design. The two shapes or figures upside-down and echoing each other is a universal theme inside a circle. There is no comparable universal for a rectangle. It cannot spin. Notice how the fish are almost totally abstracted, yet still retain qualities of the living, jumping animal.

B. The human figure is the most common subject of pictures in human history. Often this subject is godlike as well as manlike. It is difficult to use successfully even without bending it into a circular boundary. Once used, though, it prompts immediate identification in the viewer. It is the easiest subject for subtle narrative nuance. The fascination in this composition is in the tension of the illusory depth, and balance (or lack of?).

C. Observe your subject as carefully and closely as possible. Since I have never drawn fish from life, watched them only seldom, and have been to lazy to research the image (and emotion) properly, when I tried to draw one from above I ran into a problem with the tail. The analogy between vibration lines and water movement keeps the picture from failing utterly. Look at it as if you were the first ever to see this magical thing. After really looking, the rest is easy.

The Circle

A. A circle within a circle, attached to an edge, gives a peculiar sense of being glued down in an unstable, even gravity-defying position. The inner circle could roll but not easily break free. Perhaps this is a by-product of the gestalt a circle presents (see Jung) - it is so complete it cannot easily be attached to any other form, even another circle.

B. The other major function a circle performs is the creation of order out of chaos, reason out of absurdity. Is this because of its lenslike property of creating a focus?

C. The gestural circle is my favorite exercise when warming up to paint with ink and brush. It is impossible to make a consistent circle using just part of your arm. You must move from the shoulder. I practice this exercise in both a clockwise and a counterclockwise direction. This page of circles had very little practice beforehand, and the circles aren't really very good (though my experience shows). The more you practice, the more the hand and eye coordinate and the mind quiets.

The Central Point

A. Like a crystal or snowflake, this design seems to have grown from a single point. It contains elements of radial and axial symmetry that create a "quiet" composition despite its complexity, through symmetry's innate visual logic. The composition here looks decorative, like a doily, and "decorative" art is definitely categorized as "low art." However, despite any associations, the framework is strong and rarely used in the modern world, though it has been for centuries in pottery of all cultures. Pennsylvania-Dutch hex signs. A compass.

B. Since this is a stable and evenly divided composition, it shouldn't appear to move. However, the zigzags and wavy lines make it, too, look like a pinwheel. The only stable point, really, is in the center. Notice that it is four-armed, which describes a square inside the circle.

C. For a composition to have a powerful graphic "punch," a strong contrast and simple design are necessary. The negative/positive balance is a major factor. For instance, in this composition, the image would have more punch if the black areas were made larger, and less if they were smaller. Because of the five arms, the composition has only radial symmetry, and so implies motion even more than A or B The arrows aid this implied motion.

The Field

A. The field is a group of shapes that are of a family, though not identical. A boulder field, a group of crystals, a layer of clouds and foam on the ocean after a wave are examples. This field is overlapped from bottom to top, making it recede. The shapes gradually get smaller and closer together toward the middle of the circle, which reinforces the illusion. A tension is set up by making the shapes larger toward the top. This makes them want to come forward, though they can't because of the overlap.

B. Almost any field can be reversed successfully, due to its allover nature. A light on dark pattern will nearly always give more drama than the opposite. How does this field move? In and away from the edge. This is a true circular composition, as there is no up or down.

C. The field/subfield composition works best with several shapes in the subfield. If you have but one, the rest of the composition is just an elaborate frame. The difference between a field and a pattern is that a pattern repeats in a specific manner, the field in a general one.

The Triangle

A. The triangle (pyramid, cone, and tetrahedron) is unique. Set on a long side, it is the most stable of forms. Set on a corner, it is highly precarious. It is the basis for Bucky Fuller's geodesic dome, which is able to span, in a stable manner, a larger area with less material than any other form known. The tripod will be stable where a four-legged stool will not. Here, the triangle is skewed a bit to give a twist to an otherwise boring composition. Pattern also has the capability of being used in a "loud" way as in a tacky Hawaiian shirt.

B. The triangle, whatever its powers of regeneration or structural strength, did not proliferate in animal forms. Is that why 4/4 time seems more natural to us than 3/4? Is it because we are soft edged and bilateral in nature? This composition is the basic illusion of a triangle folded at a vertex. It is grounded by extending the triangle to the edge of the circle rather than floating it in the middle. Using the edges in this manner helps most compositions work.

C. Triangles are arrows, spears, and pointers. They all (except for an equilateral) point in a specific direction, moving your eye back and forth across the circle. They are a sharp contrast to the "dull" circle. When using triangles, however, beware how you point them, as it can be too obvious singling out (it's not polite to point).

The Fast Line

A. The successful calligraphic brush stroke drags the eye from edge to edge, and gives you a sense of the gesture as a complete action. The quiet area leading in and out of the active area is as important as the brushwork itself. For the whole thing to work, a single direction of motion and variety of line are usually necessary.

B. This composition has the advantage of being a little more lyrical than A, since it softens with the circle, but it loses some of the graphic boldness and centered focus in the process. Adding other elements often dilutes the impact of the gesture. In brush painting the Bauhaus idiom is usually true: less is more. At the other end of the spectrum, there is also a connection to abstract expressionism; Motherwell, Kline, Sam Francis, and even Pollock, with whom more can be more.

C. The main ingredient of a fast line is a quiet or understated part that then emphasizes the action in the other part. Think of it like an electroencephalograph or a musical composition; the flight of a bird or the shape of a lily, sleep and waking, growth and quiescence. These extrapolations are never irrelevent. In American Indian art, the viewer creates the meaning by what he sees, and each person is expected to see something different. The intervals in this circle are busy/quiet/busy above and busy/quiet below. The reason the two lines are harmonious is that they echo each other, yet still give each other enough space to breathe.

This article is excerpted from The Book of Circles by Richard White. Copies of the entire manuscript may be obtained by writing to Richard White, 2225 Laguna Canyon Rd. #C-2, Laguna Beach, CA 92651.

Platter by Richard White.