An Ode To My Wheel

 

At first, I was afraid of you just a little bit. I’d taken classes to learn how to use you, but I wasn’t sure you’d act the same as the other wheels. I mean, everything has its unique rhythm and character. Right? But slowly and quietly with a little soft instrumental music playing, we became friends. 

Sometimes, especially at first, I rushed you a little too fast and, well, the clay slipped off you onto the floor. Shocking, yes. But not your fault, obviously. I had to get to know you and learn to lean into you and trust. When I turned you to the left to center a ball of clay and turned you to the right to shape a cup or bowl, it was magic. 

We made many, many things together. Big bowls and small ones. Teacups and mugs. Even small sculptured “Party Animals” who helped get me through Covid. 

It’s not you, it’s me. 

I still love clay. And I’m still making clay sculpture and vases and other pieces using the slab method. But abdominal surgery made it too painful for me to sit with you and throw. Bending forward and pressing to center just didn’t work the way it used to anymore. 

But still you sat there stalwart, waiting quietly in the garage for me. Ready to move into action the moment I plugged you in. 

You’ve been there for every change I’ve gone through in the last 20 plus years. 

Helping me. Delighting me. Calming me. And most of all giving me a chance to right a wrong that happened all the way back in high school art class: when my ball of clay spun off the wheel and hit the wall behind me. You never did that to me. 

Now it’s time for me to let you go. It’s time for you to move on. It’s time for you to find someone, like me, ok maybe someone with more experience, to turn you on. It’s time for you to help transform chunks of messy mud into beautiful things again. 

Thank you for all the messy, gooey, luscious fun we had together.

Sigh. I’m going to miss you. 

Thank you 2025 Word of the Year: Thrive

 

I’ve had a hell of a few years from 2022 to 2025. Here’s a recap:

2022 - 4th of July flood in my house, damage took a year to repair. 

2023 - My husband got laid off. We lost income and health insurance. It took 6 months for me to get Social Security and Medicare. 

2024 - The year of Misdiagnosed Illness that ended in major surgery to repair. 

2025 - Recovery from surgery both physical and emotional. Didn’t know about PTSD

But I’m here. I survived. And that’s why I picked Thrive as last years word of the year. 

Because I wanted and needed and hoped, now I’d be able to Thrive, not just survive.   

And I did. 

It wasn’t easy or fun. There was still pain and physical limits. And after I worked my way through all that, I got hit upside the head with trauma. Now, I’d had surgery before: 2 C sections, 1 broken wrist, 1 skin cancer removal. But none of them hit me like this surgery did. Every little twinge sent me into the fear zone. 

And I understand it now, thanks to support from others who’ve been through it. And books about it. And, most importantly, thank you, my  Substack friends who have been down this rough road ahead of me and were here to shine a light for me to see by.  

Art as therapy. Throwing is out. 

After the surgery, I couldn’t do my art the same way anymore. I used to love throwing clay on the wheel. But it uses my abdominals and it was very uncomfortable. I had to let it go and move on. Honestly, now I know, it was time anyway.

I was gifted a wheel and kiln from a wonderfully supportive couple decades ago. They loved my copper work, saw my clay work and gave me a huge gift. I was a failure at throwing in high school. (Cue embarrassing clay incident: clay sailing off wheel and hitting the wall behind me. WTF) Yeah. I went back to ‘school’ and learned to throw. I even sold it at shows and galleries. 

But I’m not a production potter. What I truly love is sculpture and faces and masks. And over the months, my surgery recovery led me back to where I’d began. I didn’t realize it at first. I was just ‘goofing’ around and trying to do whatever my body would allow. 

Relief.

It all started with doodling. When I was still unable to do much, I was gifted with a set of sparkle gel pens and a drawing pad. Some days, all I could do was doodle. Maybe swish some watercolor paints around. And crochet. 

But I worked my way back to my studio. I had a little clay left, so I rolled it out and played around. Here’s what found me: drawings and watercolors coming to life in clay. What a weird idea, right? 

I made one, then another and another. 

Then a face appeared. It sat on the shelf, alone. Until one day, I looked up at the sunflowers in my kitchen and got an idea. 

Soon, in addition to the sunflower, a poppy, gingko and oak leave reliefs appeared. 

I’m not sure how or where I’m going to be able to show them. But I’m hoping  somewhere, somehow, someone will help make it happen. 

That these new pieces, along with me, will thrive. 

Inching my way towards joy

 

Joy feels like a big word to me. I’m not sure, with everything that’s going on, what it means for me right now. So, I looked it up to see if a definition would help.

Joy defined by Merriam Webster:  to experience great pleasure or delight. The emotion evoked by well-being, success or good fortune. Or by the prospect of possessing what one desires. 

Hmm. Well, I can see some people in Washington might be feeling this right now. Taking our tax dollars to make themselves richer. Cutting critical programs that help people in need to cut their taxes and add to their greed. 

It’s not joy to me. It’s despicable. 

Help. 

After having major surgery, I spent months recovering. Doing little things became big things to do. I couldn’t throw clay on the wheel anymore. But I had to find something creative to do. Something to lift me out of the pain. Something to heal my spirit. 

I used to paint before I started working in clay. So, I went back to it. Paper and brushes and color was easier on my body and soothed my fears. I’d forgotten how much fun it was to spread water and paint on paper. It was just the therapy I needed. 

Discovery. 

I liked throwing on the wheel. And I spent many years focusing on function and technique to create pieces that would sell. It felt good to develop new skills. Making a good mug or teacup or bowl was a big accomplishment for me. Especially since I’d failed at it in high school. 

But I forgot something along the way. 

What I discovered using pens and brushes and paint and paper, again, was play. I’d forgotten that quality is essential to creating. It’s not just about making everything perfect, it’s about the making itself. 

Is this joy?

Still I have a problem with the word: joy. It brings back too many memories of church ceremonies, which were not joyful to me. And if I free it from those confines, it still feels too big, too much, too hard. 

But what if I just let myself go back to that little girl in the woods playing with sticks and mud? She didn’t know what the word joy meant, she just had fun. What would happen if I let her lead me back to joy?  

Inch by inch

A little watercolor one day

A little clay another day

Some color brushed on clay

It’s ok, it’s just play. 

But maybe, it’s new way to joy. 

To do or not to do

 

This is the question going through my mind lately. With life changes and health issues, I’ve had a lot to absorb and process these days. One of the main things I’m thinking about is my art and how it’s changed over the years. My first gallery show was in 2000, where I showed masks sculpted out of window screening. Yup, the kind of screening you buy at the home improvement store. 

From there, I made and showed screening or clay masks in boxes that contained a copper repose landscape and a story that tied all the pieces together. Some were free standing and some hung on the wall. 

A gift that changed my art and life.

During an open studio years ago, a very sweet couple came to see my art. They had bought one of my copper masks and spotted some of my clay sculptures. Wondering why they hadn’t seen these in the gallery, I told them I only had a few because without a kiln, I was only able to get the pieces fired by a kind art teacher. They then offered me their kiln and insisted I take the wheel they had, too. 

That led to a few years of clay classes where I learned to throw and glaze. And after that, throwing became my biggest focus. I threw and showed and sold mostly functional pieces: mugs, bowls and vases. A few sculptural pieces snuck in but not a lot.  

Now what?

That’s the question I’ve been asking myself a lot these days. With all the life and health changes throwing just doesn’t feel the same. I still love clay, so I did what I could physically do, making some lily vases, leaves and small sculptures. 

When my small sculptures sold well last year, I saw it as a sign to make more. I did. I made a lot more. But what I found out is that making more doesn’t mean selling more. Even though I did sell almost all of my birds(made in 2020) and polar bears(made in 2023), I had a hard time making more. It just didn’t feel the same to ‘remake’ my work as it did to make a new idea in clay. I know this may sound weird, but I struggled with copying myself. 

Perhaps, production work just doesn’t work for me. My art has certainly evolved over the years, I worried about that, too. I think that’s why I wanted to produce more to prove I could and to sell more. 

To do or not to do, what do I do? 

To force myself into the studio to copy myself isn’t working. 

Maybe that’s the problem: production instead of creating.

Making more didn’t lead to more sales.  

Maybe, just maybe less is more. 

A New Season

 

It’s not officially Fall, but it feels like it. The breeze is cool. There are clouds in the sky and the temperatures are comfortable, finally. Taking a deep breath in and out, I’m savoring the change.  

It’s been a long, very hot summer and I’m glad to be done with it.

I was overwhelmed with life’s unexpected changes. My husband was laid off. I lost my medical coverage as a result and it took 6 months of bureaucratic nightmares for me to finally get healthcare coverage. All of this caused a lot of anxiety: sleepless nights, weight loss, emotional turmoil. I needed to find some ways to cope with it all. 

So in June, I declared I was taking the summer off. I needed a break physically and emotionally. I read a lot of silly romance novels and mysteries with my feet up resting and repairing my knee. And I did the 3 C’s: clay, crochet and cleaning as much as the very hot weather would allow. 

Dogs, cats, bunnies and fairies. Oh my. 

I didn’t have a plan. I just knew that wedging, rolling and throwing clay helped a little. Even when I was overwhelmed and angry, I made myself put my hands in clay. In the studio, I rolled out cats, dogs, bunnies and little fairies. I let the clay lead me into a safe space away from the stress and fear. 

And these small sculptures just started to appear and multiply. I’ve never made anything like them. But they made me smile and that was enough. So I just kept making them and a few months later, I have dozens. Almost enough to fill my kiln!

Welcoming new feelings and a new season. 

Today, it’s cloudy with a light, cool breeze. Just the right weather to fire up my kiln. It’s been so long since I’ve loaded it up and the biggest surprise was it was filled with new work! Dozens of little animals, some bowls and little plates I made with my granddaughter too. 

My anxiety is easing. The cooler weather is giving me an appetite again. We’re getting over the sadness and shock of our unexpected loss and life change. And embracing a new kind of life we’re both creating together. 

Sometimes life throws you into the unknown 

Floundering in the dark and fear

But then, slowly, the light gets in

A new season gives way to new life

Fall into it.