A bowl full of me.

Too much pressure can turn a masterpiece into a mess.

Pottery is as much a spiritual hobby as it is a physical one. It's about achieving the perfect balance. Just enough pressure, just enough logic and the perfect amount of creativity. Each piece yields to the potter's touch. One of the challenges that either makes people fall in love with this craft or run from it, is the ability to "feel."

From welding the clay on a flat table, to centering a mound in the middle of the wheel and finally to shaping it into the desired object is all about form and feel. Form = structure. I love structure because that's just another way to control things. And to be honest, when I control all of the subtle elements, I feel immense relief. I control the element of surprise, the success or the failure. Any way you slice it, I'll know what's coming - because I created it.

What a ridiculous notion that turned out to be.

It's the "feel" that makes or breaks the entire project. Form and feel. Just another yin and yang. One is no good without the other. As spiritual and intuitive as I am, I find I'm still generally uneasy about relying on "feel" to tell me where I am in the process.

Trimmed and smoothed and ready for fire.

The first time I tried to center a mound of clay on the wheel, I strained. I understood the form, but I kept asking if my clay was centered. I had to trust my instructors assessment because I was unwilling to trust my own. I didn't know what I was looking for. That's the way I justified the constant harassment. Each time, before she'd put her hands on the clay she'd ask, "How does it feel?"

I would shrug. It felt like...clay. Wet, slippery...bumpy.

"Close your eyes."

I clasped my hands around the clay and closed my eyes. She told me to "feel" the clay. Did it bump? Did it resist? Was it wobbling? I was so preoccupied with "looking" to see if it was centered, I missed the assurance that "feeling" gave me. I haven't had a problem with centering since.

With each class I learn something different about pottery, but mostly about how the attributes of my personality make it easier, or more difficult. When I come into the studio from a hard week, I tend to want to make wheel throwing..."logical." I am in a rush. I am hasty. I want this clay to mold itself into something desirable quickly and easily. Pottery doesn't work that way. And actually, neither does life. You can want all you want. But if you're hasty, rushed and not willing to "feel" your way through some of the bumps...you are going to wind up with a lopsided, uneven and disappointing work of art. Still art...just not the piece you were intending. You'll either discard it, or turn it into something else.

In so many ways, my patience (or lack thereof) impacts my ability to create. My ego begins to whisper that I've mastered things I may still need to practice. It whispers that I'm more advanced then I truly am, and suddenly, I'm making a mess of things I seemed to do so easily just days earlier. Suddenly, my clay and I are off center.

I started making a mess today, in all my haste to be somewhere too soon. Once I realized where my stubborn pressure was making a mess of things, I backed off. I took a deep breath and leaned away from the wheel. I closed my eyes and just let my fingers skim the surface of the clay."Doing nothing" and "feeling everything." I felt the bumps. I thought about what I did to put them there. I reflected on what I've learned thus far to recover. I slowed down my wheel.

And then...gradually...I turned a mess back into a masterpiece.

(And then I quit while I was ahead)

As for the endeavor itself, I am four classes in and already signing up for the next series. I'm day dreaming about a studio in my home. I'm planning on buying my own wheel just after the new year. I've thrown seven pieces thus far, of varying size and shape. They are all at varying stages of trimming, polishing, firing and glazing. And I can safely confirm for you that this hobby for me is definitely here to stay.