I can’t tell you what it was or where it came from, but the call to try pottery making was in my head. Perhaps it was the confluence of seeing artistically shaped pottery in a display case at a local museum. Or my current internal battle to begin writing a novel, which brought me to the decision to give it a try.
As it turns out, the local art museum offers art classes to adults and children, and “beginner pottery making for adults” appeared in my browser. While there were tons of other options, like acrylic painting or watercolors, being colorblind made my choice simple.
I sat in a workshop with seven other adults ranging in age from their 20s to, alas, my age, 72. The instructor was a young 20-something who felt the need to tell the class about his many accomplishments, which I found humorous, if not a tad annoying. After all, I was there to get my hands dirty, not to listen to a list of where his pottery is on display.
Once past the intro, he demonstrated the art of compressing the ball of clay into a trapezoid-type shape, forming a cone, then squishing it down, making a hole, and finally raising the sides to create a cylinder. (I might have messed up the order here, I’m just a beginner.)
The instructor kept reminding the group that frustration was a likely outcome of this first experience. To be honest, while I completely botched my first attempt, I felt no frustration, just joy at trying something new with nothing at stake. Failure was assured, but that didn’t dampen the experience as I dipped the sponge into the bucket of water to keep the clay wet while the wheel spun.
There is a special joy in the experience of something new, provided there is no attachment to mastery. There was an amazing feeling of being in the moment as my hands held firmly to the spinning mass. For the next eight weeks, I will continue trying to learn the skill at the most basic level.
Have you experienced anything similar?
