We have to realize that a creative being lives within ourselves, whether we like it or not, and that we must get out of its way, for it will give us no peace until we do. Certain kinds of egotism and ambition as well as certain kinds of ignorance and timidity have to be overcome or they will stand in the way of that creator. And though we are well thought of by others, we will feel cross and frustrated and envious and petulant, as if we had been cheated, somehow, by life.
– M.C. Richards, Centering in Poetry, Pottery, and the Person
The act of creating pottery requires submission of the self. It requires back breaking hours spent hunched over a wheel, calloused hands, and most importantly, time. Those unwilling to devote themselves under these conditions will never know the true art of pottery. Loss cannot be a stranger to the maker, for it is through loss in this craft that skill is generated. The pottery wheel presents a force that is constantly working against its user. It is up to the artist to surpass this momentum in order to create.
I believe a life without love and yearning is no life to live at all. I was fortunate enough to learn this lesson at 14 years old, when I selected Potter’s Wheel 1, as the course that would fulfill my necessary art credit at Stamford High School. I had no intention to excel nor to leave the class an expert on the wheel, but longed for something new and expressive. The rest of my high school years would be defined by this decision and by those who supported me along the way.
I will never forget the sense of pride and excitement I felt for my first ever, centered, 3 inch tall bowl. From this moment on, my life became measured in B.P. (before pottery) and A.P. (after pottery). From September 2018 to March 2020, I spent my mornings, Monday through Friday, pleading with my mother to drop me off at school half an hour early to get more time on the wheel. And my evenings were spent begging my beloved pottery teacher, Mrs. Daher, to let me stay long after the final bell rang. The frustration and contempt I once felt for the potter’s wheel, became love and appreciation for the art form. After a brief amount of time, I sought excellence in my creations, which propelled me to practice day in and day out. Throughout highschool, I participated in state wide competitions, had my artwork included in high school exhibitions, and even sold some pieces to school faculty and others. Skipping class seldom meant leaving the school building for me, rather I would trek my way to the third floor of the old building and sneak into the pottery room where I could continue learning and practicing the art form.
I have found the process of creating pottery to be an extension of the self unlike any other medium. While painters will take to a canvas or poets will take to the pen, the potter takes to molding earth itself. The clay is alive and breathing and from it life is not introduced, but rather transformed. Pottery forces the student to learn patience and dedication. The special material that is clay demands respect, though it is forgiving. On one occasion, I tried and failed over a dozen times to make a commissioned bonsai pot, all with the same clay, until I successfully completed the vessel. Clay, prior to its first firing, can be reclaimed for eternity, making failure and loss an integral part of the learning process. Clay, while forgiving, can only be pushed to a certain limit and once surpassed, the piece is ruined and the process must begin again.
Anyone who proclaims being a potter, has lost more than they have ever succeeded. Pottery keeps the artist humble, and those who are not prepared for that will likely never progress. Poet and fellow potter, M. C. Richards explores these themes in her famous work, Centering in Pottery, Poetry and the Person, where the author uses the process of centering as a measure for growth and development in life. I found this book during a tumultuous period in my life, when I was not as invested in pottery or generally anything for that matter. Richards put into words feelings that I had not been able to express for years. I came to realize that there were others, like me, who saw life and poetry in pottery. Richards speaks of pottery and more generally the act of creating, as vital for life as the air we breathe. I highly recommend the book, not only to artists, but to everyone, for Richards aims to reimagine life through the structure of the pottery wheel. The constant pressures we all face are mirrored by the tension of the hands meeting the clay, the precision of raising walls and the focus required to shape the final form.
Today, my relationship with pottery has greatly changed. My first four years spent making pottery, I was a student, completely immersed in the world of throwing, wedging and raising. I had the privilege of failure, as time was not a concern. When I spent 3 hours on the wheel, for only a single piece to come out of it, I would’ve considered it a successful throwing session. Today, I teach others in my residential college pottery studio. Working in the studio is the only way I can ensure spending time there, as without it, I know my academic and personal responsibilities would likely distance me from it. I am no longer allotted the privilege to fail, which has been a source of tension as an artist. I now harbor seven years worth of experience and skills so as to prevent failure, yet it is inevitable to run into it. I do not sit in front of a pottery wheel every day as I once did, yet I continue to create in spite of it. I found a passion I can forever pursue in this life, one which has taught me virtue and devotion. I can only hope the same fortune for others.
