In the fall 2009,  I became entranced with orange persimmons. I loved the feel of them, the color and shape of them. I am afraid to say, I became addicted to eating persimmons. When I held them, I would drool at the sight and touch of them. After a few months of devouring them 2 or 3 times a day, I started fainting and was often unable to talk. Once I got up out of bed and fainted right beside a glass window.  At the suggestion of others, I went to the doctor. After many tests and an MRI and MRA, I was declared healthy. The thought never occurred to me that I might be allergic to persimmons. A friend told me to stop eating them, and the next day my brain was 90% fine.

My dreams around this time were of orange curtains on stages that flowed like water and dancing orange women. I thanked the muse and decided that if I couldn’t eat them, I would make them.

  “To see Caroline Douglas’s work is to step into the wake of the sublime. Not the abstract sublime of modernism, but the timeless, exquisitely detailed sublime of childhood: an untrammeled sense of wonder, absorption, and infinite possibility. What does her ceramic menagerie reveal? ‘A bowl of welcome that holds up the sky,” as poet Claudia Van Gerven describes the sculpture “Hand Signals.’

   Douglas’s art is best understood without name or label, theory or exegesis. What she offers us is an experience rooted in the physical that also leaps and soars into the mysteries of the heart. To enter her work is to abandon all pomposity, and embrace the absurd, the bold, the unseen, and the magical.”

 Elizabeth Marglin, Boulder Daily Camera