A bowl in blues, reds on a wooden slab

What Will You Do?

What will you do, God, when I die?
I am your jar (if cracked, I lie?)
Your well-spring (if the well go dry?)
I am your craft, your vesture I—
You lose your purport, losing me.

When I go, your cold house will be
Empty of words that made it sweet.
I am the sandals your bare feet
Will seek and long for, wearily.

Your cloak will fall from aching bones.
Your glance, that my warm cheeks have cheered
As with a cushion long endeared,
Will wonder at a loss so weird;
And, when the sun has disappeared,
Lie in the lap of alien stones.

What will you do, God? I am feared.

Rainer Maria Rilke 1875 – 1926.

Translation B. Deutsch & A. Yarmolinsky.

 

A bowl in blues, reds and clear was created and placed on a wooden slab.

Tiny particles of glass were fused together in the first firing. The side on the kiln shelf was ground and polished to achieve total transparency. In a second firing, the slab was slumped through a hole; after that, the surplus was cut off, and the edges were ground and polished. In a third firing, the bowl got its final shape. The small bowl, placed next to the big one as if it came from there, is made similarly.

 

The object's size, height x width x depth, is 23 x 33 x 21 cm for the big bowl and 5 x 12,5 x 6 cm for the small bowl. The wood has a diameter of 28 cm and is 4 cm thick. 

Price: € 1750,--,  ’shipping & VAT not included’. When you're outside of the EU, please order directly by email to info@frankvandenham.nl 

 

Was wirst du tun, Gott, wenn ich sterbe?
Ich bin dein Krug (wenn ich zerscherbe?)
Ich bin dein Trank (wenn ich verderbe?)

Bin dein Gewand und dein Gewerbe,
mit mir verlierst du deinen Sinn.

Nach mir hast du kein Haus, darin
dich Worte, nah und warm, begrüßen.
Es fällt von deinen müden Füßen
die Samtsandale die ich bin.

Dein großer Mantel lässt dich los.
Dein Blick, den ich mit meiner Wange
warm, wie mit einem Pfühl, empfange,
wird kommen, wird mich suchen, lange –
und legt beim Sonnenuntergange
sich fremden Steinen in den Schoß.

Was wirst du tun, Gott? Ich bin bange.

Rainer Maria Rilke , Berlin 1899