I felt the need to create. In a different way. To use my hands. To do something tactile. To use a different side of my brain. The side taken up by the photographic life has become slightly analytical and calculated. Like most of you, I know how to walk into a situation and make a picture. I can compose. I can use light. I'm patient and I wait for moments. Sometimes I'm lucky and all 3 come together. Sometimes I'm not, more often than not, and having one of the elements is simply "good enough."
For the last 6 weeks I've been taking a basic throwing wheel pottery class. It was actually really therapeutic at times, and at others it was really frustrating. One week, I threw three pots. Or rather tried to. Things that warped out of my control until they dissolved into nothingness and had to be thrown away. Some nights three hours would go by, with nothing to show for them, except for clay on my pants and covering my arms.
Once I finally learned a different kind of patience, got used to the feel of clay in my hands, and stopped thinking so much about it, the shapes became recognizable. For someone who was raised by an anal-retentive, obsessive-compulsive mom, where perfectionism was key, and nothing else was accepted, it was really nice to be allowed to suck at something. It was incredibly humbling. It's a lesson I've taken with me from the class. One that was worth every penny.
This vase came near the near the very end. It stands no more than 6 inches high. It cost me 6 weeks and $150 for the course. It's the most expensive vase I've ever owned. It was crafted out of love, sweat, tears and by these hands. It is the most valued thing I own.
