So much is going on in the world around us all. It's outrageous, enraging and a very bad episode in reality. I've written about it before and I really don't want to write about it anymore. I want to live, hope and dream of a better day, a prouder day, a wholesome, whole-hearted, whole world for each of us.
Making my day means just that: making.
I am an artist. I am a writer. I am a maker. I throw cups, bowls and vases. I sculpt faces, figures and masks. When my wrist was broken and I couldn't sculpt, I got a gel pen and drew in my sketch pad. When my husband was laid off and I had to work, I taught art classes, mask classes, held an open studio to sell more work. No matter what the world brings to my door from a broken wrist to a broken heart, I make something anyway.
I fill my kiln and my wheel keeps turning.
Throwing yesterday was a retreat for me, a place to sit and center, a place to ground myself into the earth. I had no agenda, deadline or concept in mind. I took out the clay, sat down and let myself be. Here's where the miracle happens, because many times, I fight with the clay to get it centered, to get it to form into my preconceived idea of what it should be, but this day, I was tired of should, of right or wrong, of fact or fiction. I let the clay be what it wanted to be.
What rose up from my fingers were 2 vases and 2 plant urns. It wasn't my best throwing day or my worst. And it didn't matter. Will they make it through the kiln process? Will they sell? Will I like them in the end? Again, it doesn't matter. What matters is that I was there, embracing the clay, centering myself with earth in my hands.
I can't stop the war of mean words out there. But I bring the inside out with hope and peace.
One vase, one pot, one turn of the wheel at a time.
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