Empty to Full

 

It always surprises me. My studio shelves were empty a month or so ago and now I have no more room for new pieces. Really, where did all these pieces come from? Is there an elf who sneaks in at night? I’m joking, of course. 

I work in my studio and throw on the wheel. But I don’t produce hundreds of pieces a week or month or even a year. Especially after this year, with the demolition and reconstruction of my home, I had months with no production at all. And after all that time away, I wondered if what I made or didn’t really mattered at all. 

It felt overwhelming. And it took a while to get my clay feet back and my hands moving.  

One chunk of clay at a time.

That’s how it happened. One day at a time, putting my hands in a new chunk of clay and wondering. What could it be? A leaf? A bowl? A penguin? A witch? A vase?

There’s a part of me that always sees more in the world around me than is really there. To me, a tree might look like a person waving in the wind. A big leaf from a tree in the park might look like a lovely serving platter. A toilet paper tube might look like a jar or a vase. 

And throwing is just my way to meditate. That is if I don’t listen to those negative voices that try to force the clay into something it shouldn’t be: taller or wider or bigger or better. 

A love of mud. 

That’s what drew me back, really. The feel. The wonder. The questions and possibilities. Most of all, letting all of that go. Stepping into the realm of here and now.  

One day at a time. 

One chunk of clay at a time.

One bowl or bird or leaf at a time. 

And my shelves went from empty to full.

And so did my soul.