pottery class

I finished my pottery class last week. I am now officially a potter. Just kidding, I'm a fledgling potter at best - flailing and messy and continually uncentered. (Pretty much sums up my life.) I'll let you in on a little secret: I thought I would be really good at pottery. I had images in my mind of throwing these beautiful bowls and pots and my instructor being quite impressed at my natural giftedness. This was so not true of me.

This was true, however, of my classmate. He is a man in his late 40's who is a self-described hippie-at-heart, tattooed with a Native American symbol, and an artist. He sat down at the wheel and created pure magic. It was sickening. Bowl after bowl he turned out, like he had done this for years. The second class he showed up with a "stamp" to stamp the bottom of his work, as opposed to my sweet little sloppy signature, "Amy." His stamp had a image of a tree and said (quite boldly, I might add), "Tom, the Potter." Pew. Resentment aside, he came off as a rather grumpy fellow, disgruntled after years and years of child-rearing and putting off pursuing his passions. But after six weeks together he was smiling more, laughing a little, and sharing bits of his life with us. I think "Tom, the Potter" found his calling and it did his heart, and personality, much good.

The woman I connected with the most was Carol. She is a nurse that recently moved to this area and has always wanted to try pottery. She has a great smile and struggled with the whole pottery thing as much as I did. Together we worked to center our pieces: coning up, centering down. Now the problem with coning is that when one "cones up" the clay tends to look a lot like a male body part...the male body part. While others were quickly shaping the "cone" in their hands and then pushing the "cone" down to center the clay on the wheel, she and I flailed along forming big ole' penises out of clay. I'll admit, there was some giggling and stifled laughter. So, of course, I liked Carol.

My instructor was young, pregnant, and serious about pottery. She is a creative entity all her own, introverted and focused. Her hands are so controlled, strong and still I told her I would let her do surgery on me (she was a little appalled, I think). What she creates is pure poetry and I don't even think she sees it. She was born to create, born to throw pottery, and to see someone do what they were created to do is quite simply a sight to see.

My first time at the wheel, I was giddy. Splashing water everywhere, I threw a small little bowl and pretty much yelled out in delight. I'm pretty sure I said something like, "Look at us! We're throwing pottery!" I know I told everyone that when they leave class and think, "That Amy-girl, she sure doesn't get out much," they are right. I don't get out much and I've always wanted to do pottery so I was a little over-excited. (I was actually just excited but considering the present company it came off as over-excited with a tad of crazy thrown in.)

I could tell you how much I enjoyed setting up my wheel, using the water and my hands to form something beautiful and unique, the way the clay feels, how resistant it can be to change and form and how time and time again my instructor would say, "Don't let the clay manhandle you." It was at times difficult, exhilarating, frustrating, peaceful. What I will tell you is that every person who came into class or into the lab was creating. They longed for some way to express themselves and they appreciated things like color, form, and shape. We all wanted to take a block of clay and make something beautiful and call it our own. Every person appreciated beauty - from the potter who had been practicing for years to the new student whose misshapen bowl was something to be awed-over and celebrated.

My pottery class is over and, as much as I would like to continue, this just isn't the season to be signing up for another six week class. But that's okay. I did something I've always wanted to do and I'm pretty sure there will be a day when I'll once again sign up for Beginner's Pottery. Until that day, I'll enjoy my little misshapen pottery pieces and feel a little giddy when I dip my chip in my handmade salsa bowl.