In the beginning

I first threw clay on a potter's wheel when I was about nine years old. I was taking a kids' clay class at the local community college, and they actually let us attempt to throw on the kickwheels. I remember it being so HARD, and couldn't even begin to imagine that anyone could ever get this crazy throwing thing down. I turned out a little tiny gritty pot and glazed it a bright yellow. I kept jewelry in it as a teenager, but now I don't know where it is.

Because I was showing an interest in clay, my parents bought me a "pottery wheel" like this one for Christmas. I don't remember how old I was, but I was ecstatic! How cool to have a wheel of one's own! The only problem was that you can't actually throw on these things. The wheel grinds to a halt as you apply the pressure needed to move the clay around. It didn't turn out good pots of any sort, but it was really fun. I got a HearthSong catalog yesterday and was so surprised to see this little wheel for sale. It brought back a flood of memories.

I got into my first "real" clay class when I was eighteen. I had just graduated from high school, and had always wanted to take a ceramics course in school, but had never had the time for it in my schedule. I got on a waiting list for the one ceramics class offered at my local rec center, and after a few months, I finally got in. My first pot was a very short cylinder, about four inches across and maybe an inch tall. I glazed it with green and white glazes and was very proud of it. It still is with me every day in my studio, holding the little posts for my Giffin Grip. It reminds me of how far I've come.

Now, I've been making pottery for nearly 10 years and have just started learning how to sculpt in clay. The excitement I feel every week in my sculpture class reminds me of my early pottery days, when I had no idea what I was doing, but was loving every minute. I still love to make pottery, but that excitement is sometimes tempered by thoughts on pricing, marketing, personal development, and so on. Some days, there's a heaviness of it that makes me wonder why I do this in the first place. Then I go to my sculpture class, tired and sore from a long day already spent in the clay studio. When I pull out my sculpture from my cubby, my heart lifts and I feel a rush of that first love feeling. And I am reminded of why I do what I do.