A Quote by Eva Zeisel

Everything I do is a direct creation of my hands, whether it is made in wood,  plaster or clay. — © Eva Zeisel
Everything I do is a direct creation of my hands, whether it is made in wood, plaster or clay.
This clay, so strong of heart, of sense so fine,Surely such clay is more than half divine--'Tis only fools speak evil of the clay,The very stars are made of clay like mine.
I used anything, various materials; this is wood, and this is mixed up clay, wedged together, clay with glazes and stuff like that.
Clay can be dirt in the wrong hands, but clay can be art in the right hands.
In the Leach Pottery we did most of our work on the wheel. [Bernard] Leach did a little work in the studio, which was press-molded forms, plastic clay pressed into plaster forms to make small rectangular boxes and some vase forms, which he liked to make. These were molds which had been made to an original that he had modeled in solid clay, and during our work there, sometimes I would be pressing these forms as a means of production.
I used to flirt with fundamentalism, and I had this idea that creation was something that happened. Now I see creation as something that is happening. Hundreds of millions of stars are still being born every day. Creation is an ongoing process. The Artist has not yet cleaned out the brushes. The paint is still wet. Human beings are the small clumps of clay and breath, and we have been handed brushes of our own, like young artist apprentices. The brushes aren't ours, nor the paint or canvas, but here they are in our hands, on loan. What shall we make?
Only now is the child finally divested of all that he has been. His origins are become remote as is his destiny and not again in all the world's turning will there be terrains so wild and barbarous to try whether the stuff of creation may be shaped to man's will or whether his own heart is not another kind of clay.
Just build a classic horseshoe of wood and plaster, and fill it with statuary and curtains, then sit back and savor the beautifully blended results.
In creation myths, a god shapes mud or clay into living form, much like a potter throws a pot or a sculptor reveals the statue within a block of marble. But a writer has to create his own clay or stone before he can begin shaping life from it.
I love the flesh. I'm a pagan. "Who are they who speak evil of the clay? The very stars are made of clay like mine!"
Whether we are aware of it or not, whether we are in control of it or not, there is a first creation to every part of our lives. We are either the second creation of our own proactive design, or we are the second creation of other people's agendas, of circumstances, or of past habits.
Maybe I have to work a bit harder on clay. It's a challenge and I've always liked challenges. Whether I will ever win the French and master playing on clay, who knows? But I'll give it a shot.
Like Adam, formed from clay, children are formed from the biological material of which they are made or by the hands of their parents.
The furnace which melts gold, also hardens clay. Before blaming thy fate, therefore, find whether thou art gold or clay.
From 1936 on, I have taken more falls than any other 20 comedians put together. From the time I was 21, I've taken them on everything from clay courts to cement to wood floors, coming off pianos, going out a two-story window, landing on Dean, falling into the rough. You do that and you're gonna have problems.
Films are born from screenplays and they are guided by words. They are born very limited and there is no space for real creation: graphic creation, pictorial creation, or audiovisual creation. If we really want to use the art of animation with all its strength, we have to rethink the processes by which it's made because the medium is the message.
The earth is rocky and full of roots; it's clay, and it seems doomed and polluted, but you dig little holes for the ugly shriveled bulbs, throw in a handful of poppy seeds, and cover it all over, and you know you'll never see it again - it's death and clay and shrivel, and your hands are nicked from the rocks, your nails black with soil.
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