The little cluster of artists did not

  want to talk about politics.  "Useless squabbling," one said.  "Waste of time," another agreed.  "Make yourselves a sandwich.  There's no catering here." The loaf of bread, peanut butter and jelly was laid out on a picnic table. 

  "Do you guys live here?" 

  "I'm local.  They are not.  I'm a potter." 

  "You make pottery?" 

  "I'll give you a studio tour later." 

  "I'm not sure that it is 'existential' or even a crisis.  It's just something I'm stuck on.  For a lot of the people who were trained they come up with something to mass produce and that's the success.  Making a hundred of something." 

  "Do you not have ideas?" 

  "I do, it's not that.  More like, I don't need a hundred clay feet or a thousand smiley faces with missing teeth.  I mean why portraiture our misery." 

  "Are you in misery?" 

  "I try not to be."