I must confess. Dirty dishes have ben on my mind lately. A few weeks before I heard about James Victore's exhibit, I picked up a copy of Paul Matthieu's excellent book, "Sex Pots: Eroticism in Ceramics". Maybe it's the scatalogical clay connection that keeps potters' minds securely in the gutter, but there's a long and venerable history of erotic pottery. From the greeks to Demi Moore's star turn in "Ghost", clay and debauchery are firmly intertwined. Matthieu's lavishly illustrated volume takes the reader on a tour of historical erotic pots, then confronts them with modern pots that explore bodies, hygiene, queer sexuality, and of course, scatology.
Ceramic vessels often provide surprises for the user--If you were drinking from a Greek Kylix, you might find a Satyr with a stiffy waving to you from the bottom of the cup when you finished. Porcelain vessels from occupied Japan often had a sneaky nude embedded in the bottom which were only visible when held up to the light. I often lash out against ceramacists for making crunchygranola work, but maybe a bit of "Who's Your Daddy" would help make the medicine go down. Especially since it seems that for ceramic artists, that medicine seems to be Viagra.