Sight
I arrived at pottery class with minimal expectations and a complete lack of enthusiasm. Our instructor sat down at the wheel and showed us a new technique for a pot, which actually seemed like something I might be able to do (unlike the mugs she was proposing last week). Charlie was already itching to get on the wheel and didn’t even give her the respect of sitting down and listening to her. He had brought his 10 year old daughter to class and she was more attentive than he was.
When it was time for me to wedge my clay and sit down at the wheel I did so absentmindedly. I was frustrated with my lack of skill at the wheel. I was feeling as though I would not be able to conquer the walls, I would never make a pot with sides or depth or height. I was worried that my ‘successes’ would be at the hands of my teacher, who was able to fix all my errors with a soft, gentle, mindless touch.
I centered the clay and tried to focus my energy. I pushed my thumbs in and began to make space, make room, to delve into the heart of the clay. When I moved my hands to either side, positioned them to mold the clay between, my teacher said, “close your eyes, Amy”. Without even thinking long enough about how dumb it sounded, I did.
I just felt.
I felt the clay, the thickness, the softness; I felt how it swayed between my fingers and held there until it ran smoothly. I let my hands tell me when to move up and let them guide me as I brought the clay up and up and up.
And when I opened my eyes, my pot had walls.
I made five pots last night. Now that I have walls I have a new struggle of trimming the lip without killing the rest of the pot, but by night’s end, I was feeling accomplished and proud of my silly pots. They are far from perfectly symmetrical. They certainly aren’t the same thickness throughout, but one demon was quieted last night. One voice stopped talking and let me create.
Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I begin to really see.
When it was time for me to wedge my clay and sit down at the wheel I did so absentmindedly. I was frustrated with my lack of skill at the wheel. I was feeling as though I would not be able to conquer the walls, I would never make a pot with sides or depth or height. I was worried that my ‘successes’ would be at the hands of my teacher, who was able to fix all my errors with a soft, gentle, mindless touch.
I centered the clay and tried to focus my energy. I pushed my thumbs in and began to make space, make room, to delve into the heart of the clay. When I moved my hands to either side, positioned them to mold the clay between, my teacher said, “close your eyes, Amy”. Without even thinking long enough about how dumb it sounded, I did.
I just felt.
I felt the clay, the thickness, the softness; I felt how it swayed between my fingers and held there until it ran smoothly. I let my hands tell me when to move up and let them guide me as I brought the clay up and up and up.
And when I opened my eyes, my pot had walls.
I made five pots last night. Now that I have walls I have a new struggle of trimming the lip without killing the rest of the pot, but by night’s end, I was feeling accomplished and proud of my silly pots. They are far from perfectly symmetrical. They certainly aren’t the same thickness throughout, but one demon was quieted last night. One voice stopped talking and let me create.
Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I begin to really see.
Comments
enjoy it!