I started a pottery wheel class this summer because my mind was out of control and I needed something productive to occupy my time. Truthfully, it was a bit of mistake. I didn’t really enjoy the class for many different reasons, but I’m also just no good at the wheel. My hands shake too much (not because of all the coffee that I consume before class, of course), I don’t know what to do with my hands and have no idea how to make the clay move. My sweet TA kept telling me I needed to have an idea of what I wanted to make before starting. I looked at him blankly and said that whatever the clay ended up doing is exactly what I wanted it to do. The poor guy tried very hard. He once worked with me for so long that I’m pretty sure he became discouraged and wanted to quit his MFA program. He turned his back for a nanosecond and suddenly my bowl flattened. Turning back around, he exclaimed “What did you do!”. To which I replied, “Now I made a plate.” It was purposeful, I swear.
So I begrudgingly drug myself to class most evenings and tried to just whip up what I could so I could glaze it and look at all of the pretty colors. Thank goodness for the pretty colors. They hide the ugliness that is my off-centered bowls and cylinders. Here’s a little sampling of the first three craftastrophes I made.