Tag Archives: pottery

Warning: This post contains (a lot of) adult language.

6 Mar

Yes, I made this. Are you convinced of my talent yet?

This fall I started taking pottery classes at a studio about four blocks from my home. I loved it, but I didn’t really feel like I was getting much instruction from the teacher. Alan – who arrived early to walk me home one night – summed it up best when he said, “I don’t really see her teaching people. She just tells them what they did wrong after they’ve already ruined something.”

I resumed classes three weeks ago, but I switched to the Saturday afternoon session. It’s made a world of difference. Jill, the owner of the studio is there on Saturdays demonstrating different techniques, and she’s awesome. Not only is she a great potter, but she’s probably my mom’s age and uses the F-bomb without flinching.

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Stream of Consciousness: A Rose by Any Other Name…

18 Oct

 

I swear to you, this is exactly the sequence of thoughts after getting home from my pottery class tonight.

How my brain works: it’s sad. I accept that.

Not bad! I might just have to post a little Facebook update about my pottery progress tonight.

“I trimmed six bowls and threw two more.”

Will people even know what that means?

Whatever. I’m a friggin’ potter, yo!

How cool would it be if my last name was Potter?

Alicia’s sixth grade teacher’s last name was Potter…

…and she wasn’t a potter.

What a waste.

With a last name like that, you should honor it.

That way, people would say, “Sandy Potter? Are you a potter? Ha ha!” thinking they’re clever and expecting you to say no.

But then you’d say, “Yes I am. Why are you laughing?” and SHAZAM – you’d have the upper-hand in that conversation.

Some people have all the luck.

<THINKING>

Hang on. My last name is ALSO a noun that could be a vocation.

But I live in the city and don’t even have a balcony.

How the hell could I farm?

Maybe I should move.

Or change my name so people don’t think I’m wasting it.

I had this exact patch sewn onto my overalls in fourth grade. Except it was in English. And it said: "I'm Proud to be A Farmer." And I modified it with a Sharpie so it said, "I'm Proud to be A. Farmer."

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An epiphany on the potter’s wheel.

12 Oct

I’ve always thought I might enjoy pottery, so when a space opened up at Hinckley Pottery – a few blocks from my house – I decided to give it a go. I’ve now had three classes, and have thrown six bowls, trimmed four and am about to fire my fire few so I can glaze them.

Everyone assumes it’s therapeutic, but I think you have to get good at it before that’s the case. (People say that about yoga too, and I’d give the same response.) Actually – now that I think about it, perhaps it IS therapeutic and I’m just too competitive to achieve that zen-like state. (Same for yoga.)

Let’s just say, when it comes to a pedal (be it on a car, a  sewing machine or a potter’s wheel), I know only one speed: FLOORED.

Whenever the teacher walks by me, she’s like, “Alison, I think you might want to slow your wheel down a bit.”

And I turn it down until she’s past me – then floor it again. Because at that pace, I can make twice as many bowls as my classmates in two hours.

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