How to Make a Teapot with Clay : How to Center Clay on Pottery Wheel

One of the hardest, and most basic things to do in wheel thrown pottery, is centering a ball of clay on the wheel. Watching others do it, it seems so simple...but when trying to give or receive instruction on how to do it, you begin to understand how intuitive the process truly is.

I think life is very much like centering that ball of clay on the wheel. I remember when I was first learning, I watched my instructor quickly cut off 2 lbs of clay from her block, weld it to remove any air pockets and to evenly distribute the moisture through her piece and then beat it into a basic cone shape. She took the cone, slapped it on the wheel and in what felt like seconds, moved and guided it to position, centered perfectly.

All very simple to do until I took the clay in my own hands and tried to repeat the action. It was a lesson in gravity, centrifugal force and pressure. Slap a piece of clay on the center of a wheel, and put that wheel in motion, it becomes a battle of wills. The clay wills itself absolutely anywhere the rhythm of the wheel and it's speed pull it. It's up to you to reign it in and guide it to perfect center. The magical element of it, is once a piece is centered perfectly, it stills. Even at incredible wheel speed, it remains locked and poised and cradled unmoving in the palm of your hand. You feel it, the instant it happens. No wobbling, no pulling, no bumping or leaning.

It's one of the hardest things to teach, because so much of centering relies on the hands, positioning and pressure from the body guiding the clay. I'm left handed. My instructor is right handed. Her hand positions, even to this day, are slightly different than mine. Her technique, while perfect for her, felt foreign to me. As we wrestled with technique and form, she finally reminded me that I would need to find the position most comfortable and right for me. And she said I'd know it immediately because the clay would respond and snap immediately into place. Like magic.

I learned to love centering clay as an exercise. And there are still some days in the studio where it will be the hardest thing for me to do. The moment I start overthinking it, I struggle. The moment I get lax in my own hand positioning, or pressure, the clay wobbles and flails heavily against me.

Don't let the clay work you, you work the clay.

It's what I remind myself when I feel three pounds of clay throw my arms and chest about as the wheel spins. I lock in, find my position and hold it, until the clay concedes. It always concedes. Each time that happens, it is a personal triumph to me. It's a gentle reminder that life is very much the same process. Finding the approach, the technique, the pressure, the patience and the faith. Knowing the best approach to life's challenges. Practicing the technique that feels most comfortable and natural to you, applying the appropriate pressure with the patience to know it may take a moment...with the faith to know that if all those keys are in place, your existence has no choice but to concede. Even with bumps. Even with air pockets, even with lumps. It will eventually, concede.

As with anything, you are lost if you are unable to intuit your way through the exercise. No one can teach you that, but at least you know you have it to rely on if you have the wisdom to acknowledge it.

I suppose that's why I love pottery the way I do. It brings me back to fundamental basics. It reminds me that somethings are very basic. It's our approach that determines the outcome. In the studio, I am able to pick up some pieces and make sense of them not so much with logic, but in just feeling my way through the process.

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I woke this morning and after feeding Mecca, I returned to the mirror and the bedroom and took a good look.

I didn't do what I normally would do, which would be to begin picking out each and every flaw I can find and wishing it wasn't there. Instead I actually admired the curve of my cheekbones, the shape of my lips, the alignment of my features, a face framed by unruly curls. And then I rested on my eyes, staring back at me.

Mom and I the sequel

A direct, strong and unwavering gaze. Not at all furtive. Not aversive...but without that twinkle of expectation. I saw the eyes of my mother when I was a child gazing into her face. Eyes of resignation and a gradual acceptance of things she wished she never knew. A filtered veneer that lets in just enough to keep her sustained, but little else. I studied those eyes, my eyes...my mother's eyes, and wondered if the world could see that quiet observation of everything moving around behind them.

I used to chase rainbows and grasp at butterflies without ever looking to check and see if my feet were on solid ground.  While I miss that girl, I also know that this life brings many lessons that remind you of the importance of reaching up and staying grounded. These eyes are warm, but hazed. They are soft, but indifferent. They study...and watch...and hold safe the observations of everything moving around about them.

These are my mother's eyes and everything she held behind them. I understand. And now they are mine. I hope they lead me to a cool, dry place.

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Potter's Hands

First impressions are tough on those who have a thick skin covering a tender heart. The immediate assumption is that those types are a little mean, or a bit unapproachable because they are more inclined to speak out when there's something going wrong, rather than to smile and make small talk about any old thing. I can relate.

The owner of the studio where I am learning wheel throwing is one of those types. I sensed that on my very first day of class. My instructor mentioned her by name as she walked through glass paned french doors. A reverence floated over the room and everyone seemed to sit a little higher on their stools, offering her a friendly wave or cautious good morning. She brushed by us with her greetings and disappeared into her office.

I knew at that moment I was really going to like her. She reminded me of the nuns I grew up with in parochial school. No frills, no fluff and no great adornments. A wealth of knowledge behind a restrained visage. I felt right at home.

Trimming

There were whispers about things you didn't do when "K" was about. Clean up after yourself, I was warned. Never forget to turn off your wheel when you're done, I was advised. Funny that all the things they were warning me not to forget, were also posted clearly on the walls and on the memo board. I wondered if their need to whisper reminders indicated that I was learning with a crew of people who didn't care much for rules. I put that aside and focused on class.

"K" would greet me independently only if I was standing in the way of something she needed access to. I've learned over the years, not to push myself on stern sorts. I try to remember how it feels to me when someone just bounds into my space uninvited. I try to remember the times that unexpected intrusions have left others with a not so fond impression of me. I know not to take such disdain personally. Still, I watched her each time I was in the studio. Managing her affairs, advising a student over their shoulder as she passed. I wanted to scale that wall she had carefully built so I could get to the learning on the other side. I decided to wait for the opportunity to come to me, instead of trying to craft it awkwardly. I'm so glad I did.

Pottery

This past Sunday, we were given a lesson in the art of glazing by "K." The first lesson she's taught to our class. More a science then I originally thought, understanding oxides and firing temperatures and the correct ways to achieve brilliant or muted colors. I am the only beginner in the class, so this refresher lesson was my first and I tried my best to shield the fact that I was hopelessly overwhelmed. "K" honed in on that attempt immediately. For each technique she demonstrated, she would ask for an assistant. Guess who that assistant was? She asked me for my name again, and I knew this time, she would remember it.

"K" made a point in this class of telling us all that she's not the "Queen B" she seems. Well, in some respects yes. She's strong willed and likes her studio run a very specific way. It's her studio and that's her right. But she also expressed the desire to know what we were thinking, and encouraged us to reach out to her. I heard murmurs of hurt feelings towards the back of the room, remembrances of chastisements and quiet admonishments that left people with sore feelings. I chuckled to myself. The things that should hurt my feelings, rarely do. I prefer to extract my hurts from far stranger events then moments of correction or commitments I've failed to keep. I'm hungry for the right way to do something, if there is such a thing. Doesn't mean I'll always follow it, but I always want to know.

While cleaning up from a demonstration she apologized if her manner was stern. Along with her disposition she has a wicked sense of humor, so I wasn't sure if the apology was offered in jest. I told her of my catholic school upbringing, and I saw the light bulb go off behind her eyes.

"I knew there was something. Are you still Catholic?"

I replied that I never was, but that some of my fondest memories were of tough, snarky nuns with hearts of gold that told you exactly what was on their minds and expected you to be sturdy enough to take it. There was something warm and familiar in that for both of us. She smiled, the warmest smile and in that mere two seconds of grin, I knew the ice was officially broken. After the formal lesson was over, she spent some one on one time with me, teaching me the finer points as I gingerly went about my first glazing projects. She mentioned that she knew she wouldn't have to worry about me in the studio, that I was conscientious. She reviewed the pieces I've thrown thus far and complimented my progress is such a short period of time. But the two comments that left me floating on air came towards the end of class.

"Are you signing up for the next session?"

I finished clearing away my tools and folded my apron. I gave her an emphatic yes and told her how much I felt at home in that place.

"I'm happy to hear that. You're soaking this stuff up like a sponge, I'm impressed. I was watching you select your glazes and the color combinations you chose. You are a natural potter. Natural potters always gravitate towards the earth tones, the browns, the greens. They are the ones this stuff just comes naturally to, they have a real respect for this craft. Don't hesitate to come get me, if you have any questions, alright?"

Natural potter? I have no idea why that coming from her felt like God just kissed me on the forehead. But it did.  Perhaps I am drawn to that sort of validation like a moth to flame, but she'll never know what that meant to me. When I left that Sunday afternoon, and peeked into her office to say goodbye, she gave me a smile, wished me a good week and addressed me by my name.

Ice, broken.

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"We're gonna be alright."

He could have been saying it to himself for assurance as much as he said it to me. Only he knows for sure if he ever meant it or if it was something he made up to fill the empty air as we stared at a freshly painted ceiling.

Sex wasn't as it used to be, carefree and lingering with conversations that would roll well into morning. Everything was rushed these days, no time was ever going to be enough and there were all these bothersome questions and god-damned ramifications to ponder. Even if I didn't speak them out loud, his random blurted assurances into evening air made it clear just how uncertain the ground in which we lay on truly became.

I could feel conflict in his embrace. Pull me tighter, become aware of clinging, release. Repeat. Quick, eye avoidant kisses and squeezes before departure had now turned into awkward pendulums where he would try to reconcile his coming and going in a matter of seconds. Four, five, six hugs before he could make it out the door, each one longer than the one before it. As if he thought he might never return. Kisses on my forehead, heavy sighs in my ear pungent with the odor of despair. Careful, screened gazes with cautious, slitted eyes trying to study me without being seen. I have to leave, he'd say.  How he could be so absurdly tender and so intimately challenged still boggles my mind.

He would think up additional things to say as he made it to the door, additional justifications to stay; I never bothered to argue. I grew silent once I realized his tug of war was not with me. It was with himself. The part that wanted to stay with me for always, and the other part that thought he didn't belong in that space. Three steps forward, two steps back. I learned to dance following him, never bothering to collect him in the way I intuitively knew I could have - had I been more polished.

I never wanted to force him. I wanted him to be in this space because he wanted it. He wanted me. All he had to do was search my eyes for words I would not say. He might be sitting somewhere, saying the very same thing. I never liked the sensation of being forced, neither did he. We both reacted aggressively to being told what to do, ironically I was the only one who could instruct him...and he, the only one to this day, that's ever been able to instruct me.

I would remain silent during his cha-cha'd exit. I would close the door after his departure. I would put my forehead against the foyer wall and feel the last strains of his imprint on my skin dissolve into thin air. On both sides of our universe, we'd both sigh under the weight of insurmountable fears. We are in many ways a carbon imprint of each other. His challenges, my own.  Indecisiveness. Suppressed worry. An overactive sense of responsibility. Self-righteous arrogance that prohibits us both from ever receiving well-intended advice the appropriate way. Fear of being left behind. Wells of untapped anger. A purposeful detachment from the world with the belief that we must never, never, never allow anyone completely inside of us. The ability to lie with the most well meaning intentions. The sensation of never truly being seen, until we saw each other. Perhaps these are the reasons I still react so fiercely to anyone who utters a negative word about him. It feels like they are speaking disparagingly of me.

He would go away that night, ensnared in the prison of his own fears and history. But he would return. It's been our secret, silent understanding that he will always return. And so has been the cycle of our education in love.

"We're gonna be alright."

A woman's heart is a vessel of secrets, my grandmother once said. I can see now exactly what she meant.

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"Never put yourself in the position of having to rely on anyone else. You do for yourself."

It was a message my father gave me so often during my childhood. It was linked to learning how to do household chores, getting along with others and going out in the world as an adult. I made it my credo, and coupled with a real social insecurity - I made it my mantra to keep the world at bay by never needing them to do anything for me.

I am powerfully self sufficient. That's what I've told myself. And, that's what I am. But that's not all I have to be. I can be a host of other things too.

Sometimes in my desire to make myself perfect, capable and strong I wonder if I have made myself emotionally untouchable.

"You'll take care of it, just like you take care of everything. You don't know how to fail."

At the time 'he' said that to me, we were on opposite sides of instant messenger. He was knee deep in issues, and I was busy about trying to solve them. It's only now in hindsight that I realize he didn't want me to fix anything. He just wanted me to listen. As usual, he turned it around to one of my work projects. I forgot how much attention he paid to every detail of my existence. I miss that. When he offered that statement to my project update, I felt a warm rush of recognition. And then I realized he used my "achievements" as a way to entrench HIS negative belief. His belief that he doesn't know how to succeed.

I never needed him. At least, not in the ways he would have wanted me to. I was too afraid to demonstrate that. Besides, I was far too busy trying to powerfully demonstrate just how much I should be needed. Vulnerability...just never looked good on me. I thought my inquisitive brain, passing wit and nurturing disposition would charm him into being everything I needed.

Sometimes I wonder if my inability to show him my weakness reinforced his belief that he was not worthy of seeing it.

"Expect people to disappoint you."

Wow. Talk about the Law of Attraction on that one.  If I gave him no reason to disappoint me, perhaps he wouldn't. So I worked very diligently on that. But that belief was still ingrained in my skull while I went about being perfect. Expect disappointment. I've cultivated that belief for a very long time based on that advice. People...are going to disappoint you. In their actions, behaviors and decisions.  That was the belief I was handed, and I've made it, for so many years - my personal law. The expectation has been fulfillied more often then I'd care to admit. It's only now that I see the part I've played in it.

Sometimes I wonder if my expectations of disappointment made it easier for him to put in a half assed effort.

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Taken from Friday Fives...

What is your new years resolution for 2007?

I do not believe in making specific charges that can easily be broken and then altogether abandoned when mistakes or slip ups occur. Because they always occur. And then we bury our heads, call ourselves failures and resolve to do better "next year." Instead, I like to use broad thoughts that encompass lots of different things. I find it gives me more to celebrate at year end. The old resolution style is designed for breaking. I won't break, but I know I will bend.

I resolve to continue on the path I inadvertently began in 2005. I resolve to continue remaining open to growth, cultivating deeper patience with myself and others. I resolve to trust myself when I can't see what's around the bend. I resolve to speak truth when it's incredibly risky to do so. I resolve to take greater steps towards embracing the things that frighten me. I resolve to be more financially prudent.

Do you plan on going out or staying in for new years?

I don't usually go out on New Years. I never liked crowds (especially drunken ones), and there's always been something reflective about new years that makes me want to reflect, to snuggle, to reminisce, to celebrate those things than incite happiness and sadness. It's way too overwhelming to share with a billion people. Besides, I'm a Cancer. I love my shell. So I'm more apt to invite some really good friends over for something intimate, fun and warm.

Was 2006 a good year or a bad year?

2006 was a great year. Full of transition, full of lessons and full of challenges all designed to make me a stronger person. I shed a lot of tears, but I wouldn't forego one day of it. All things for reasons. Professionally I grew, My writing evolves and I know more about me than I ever have before. That's all good.

Did you make any resolutions for 2006, and if so did you keep them?

Let's see a party.

Somewhere, someone has a pants party going on...you might wanna check them out. No partyin' round these parts right now. Sorry to be so dull. LOL.

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