When I was first introduced to pottery at the age of 15, I was terrible at it. This infuriated me.
The hunk of clay that I attempted mold had ended up squashed because my frustration won. I had chucked it on the ground. My frantic energy didn’t know how to make my hands stable.
Foot on the pedal and sponge in my right hand. Water is dripping off my fingernails into the clay below me. The wheel spins but my focus is more direct than ever. The sensation of the mud moving and transforming with every single touch brings my mind to center. Nothing matters when I can put all my attention to producing a work of art.
The first step in wheel throwing is called centerting. Centering in the ceramics world is the process of bringing all the clay into the exact center of the wheel, symmetrical on all sides. This part is essential In forming any successful piece of pottery. When your hand can rest without movement on the top and the sides of the clay, as the clay rotates at full speed, the clay is centered. The clay needs to be balanced before it can become art.
The best part about clay is it can be recycled, you can always restart. You can throw it, smash it, squish it. Just completely destroy it and it doesn't matter.
Any project can easily be destroyed by a sudden movement of a finger or accidental bump of a tool. I’m a culprit of moving too fast and without caution, causing myself to constantly break or crack my pots before they are put in the kiln. In order to prevent this. I have to be mindful of my every movement. I have to slow my body down, slowing my mind down.
One of the things I always say when teaching the pottery wheel to students or customers was “don’t let the clay control you, you control the clay.
Replace the word “clay” with the word “desires.”
When I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression in the beginning of my junior year of high school is when the clay started speaking to me. When it became more than just an art class, but a place I could let out my frustration and focus on something other than the never ending chatter in my head. The ability to work with my hands and create something tangible and useful gave me a new perspective, a new outlook.
But what about clay is so inspiring?
I can take a piece of the earth and turn it into a bowl, a cup or a sculpture. Endless possibilities. But when I approach the wheel, I never know what I’m about to make. I let my hands do the work, not my brain. Sometimes I have the intention to make a bowl, but the sides of the bowl become too thin and collapse into a plate. I found myself accepting the plate for what it was without comparing it to expectations that I began with or the plate will lose its purpose. I have to perceive the plate as what the clay was able to do that day and I have to be grateful that I was still able to make a plate. It’s taught me to let go of expectations. It has taught to be mindful with every touch.
When I haven’t done pottery in a while, I crave it. I crave the feeling of my hands covered in mud, being able to feel the soft mud between my fingers and the cold water dripping on the ground, hitting my foot. The mud dispersed all over my legs and even on my face sometimes. There is no way to avoid getting my clothes completely covered with water and clay. I crave the sensations that make me aware of my body .I crave being able to use my hands to create a piece of art and the creativity that sparks within me when I’m able to dulge my awareness into one thing.