Gettin' Dirty

I have returned to the world of pottery.

I picked up my old tradition of grabbing dinner at Amante's next door to the studio while I waited for class to start. I was nervous with anticipation, unable to concentrate on the book I was trying to read.

The air in the studio is damp and rich, like the smell of earth, just like I remember it, and the clay is cold, just as I'd hoped it would be. I opened my new bag of 112 clay and I breathed it in. My spirit soared. This is my little slice of heaven.

I felt a strange sense of pressure, like I needed to hit the ground running because it all used to come so easily before. The class ended up moving slowly; the instructor showed all the beginners how to center their clay on the wheel. When I was working, the instructor came over and gave me a smile. "See," she said. "I told you it would come back to you."
It may be a cliche, but it really can be compared to riding a bike because physics is involved in both. Balance, pressure, gravity, angles, velocity. But whereas with riding a bike there are just a few ways to fail (tip over or hit something), with clay there are so many more variables. If the clay gets too wet, it will sag. If it dries out to quickly, it will crumble. If you try to pull up too quickly, it will wobble. If the wheel spins too quickly, it will fly off and hit the person next to you.

At the end of the evening, a sentimental smile spread across my face when I noticed that there were smudges of clay on my pants. After I finish my work, I have proof, in smudges and dust, that I am an artist.

It's fantastic.