The Bowl
A few weeks ago, I purchased a beautiful ceramic jumbo soup bowl from Chinatown. My immediate impulse to make this purchase came from a memory of a short story read to me almost 10 years ago. I had romantic notions of being the very protagonist who had an odd relationship with a bowl.
Ann Beattie’s “Janus” described elegantly how a real-estate agent would take this lovely white, oversized ceramic bowl with her to open houses and place it deliberately on a coffee table believing that people would buy the home because of the bowl. Her attraction and attachment to the bowl was so interesting and psychotic. She carried it from place to place admiring the beauty of the bowl as well as its imperfections and often found herself subconsciously caressing its contours. She struggled about whether or not to tell her husband about the bowl.
If I recall correctly, the story concludes by revealing that the bowl was a gift from the woman’s lover. The allegory in this story was so powerful that it stayed with me for a good nine years. So impactful, that I started writing my own stories and made my decision to be a writer. I was inspired by the oddity of a woman caressing a ceramic bowl (some believe the bowl represents the shape of a woman’s pregnant stomach), the beauty of the language, the story, and the truth – we are all more tragic, sordid, and complicated than what appears on the surface.
And so, I purchased my own bowl. Not only is its size perfection for holding my instant noodles, but as I caress its contours and begin my odd relationship with this bowl, I am reminded of Janus – the Greek god of two-facedness.
A few weeks ago, I purchased a beautiful ceramic jumbo soup bowl from Chinatown. My immediate impulse to make this purchase came from a memory of a short story read to me almost 10 years ago. I had romantic notions of being the very protagonist who had an odd relationship with a bowl.
Ann Beattie’s “Janus” described elegantly how a real-estate agent would take this lovely white, oversized ceramic bowl with her to open houses and place it deliberately on a coffee table believing that people would buy the home because of the bowl. Her attraction and attachment to the bowl was so interesting and psychotic. She carried it from place to place admiring the beauty of the bowl as well as its imperfections and often found herself subconsciously caressing its contours. She struggled about whether or not to tell her husband about the bowl.
If I recall correctly, the story concludes by revealing that the bowl was a gift from the woman’s lover. The allegory in this story was so powerful that it stayed with me for a good nine years. So impactful, that I started writing my own stories and made my decision to be a writer. I was inspired by the oddity of a woman caressing a ceramic bowl (some believe the bowl represents the shape of a woman’s pregnant stomach), the beauty of the language, the story, and the truth – we are all more tragic, sordid, and complicated than what appears on the surface.
And so, I purchased my own bowl. Not only is its size perfection for holding my instant noodles, but as I caress its contours and begin my odd relationship with this bowl, I am reminded of Janus – the Greek god of two-facedness.
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