Cylinder evolution

I signed up for my first pottery class in the fall of 2018. It was a beginner-level class, and I think all the students found comfort knowing that we barely knew what we were doing, but we were proud of ourselves for even signing up. There were two main shapes we learned in class - the cylinder and the bowl. The cylinder required proper centering of the clay along with a steady hand for pulling up the walls; these were two things I did not have. That fall, I don’t think I made any piece on the wheel larger than three inches tall. The left-most cylinder in the picture above was the first cylinder of mine that survived the wheel - barely.

Still, I was undeterred. The second piece you see is another from the class - a little wider, a little more secure, but still scarred a little with an indent from when my hand slipped pulling up the walls. Before glazing the piece, I gave it a little smiley face which I still love to this day. This one is a short one, but a cutie for sure.

After the fall of 2018, I thought I would continue pottery within our school’s studio. I even bought another 25 lb bag of clay and a studio pass to convince myself. Yet despite my financial commitment, I had so many other things on my plate that spring semester that I ended up going to the studio a total of three times, struggling with each attempt to make literally anything, with no success.

It wasn’t until this year, the beginning of 2020, that I came back to it. I signed up for a “continuing wheel” class while finishing up my months of grad school. I soon came to find myself very obviously the most inexperienced in the class. Many others had years of casual pottery experience, with one even owning her own wheel and kiln at home for running her Etsy shop. I felt so intimidated. We would do practice exercises in class, and while the teacher would challenge us to pull up cylinders blindfolded, she would just ask me to focus on centering the clay because I was struggling just to do that. They recommended I spend extra time in the studio, but I barely had any free time due to grad school obligations. Much like my beginner’s class, I struggled to make anything bigger than two or three inches. I would get frustrated but try not to show it, and while my classmates were all supportive of me, I still felt like a disappointment. Along with every other full-time interview rejection I was receiving, now I had pottery to remind me of how incapable I was?

I forced myself to set aside at least one day for two weeks to go into the studio outside of class. I forced myself to ask questions during class, getting advice from my teacher and from my classmates on how to fix problems I was having. And slowly, it was working. I was able to center more quickly, and pull up walls! They weren’t huge, but it was still something. The third piece you see here is a result of that. I am so proud of this one. It was the first clean cylinder I pulled; it may not look like much, but to me, it assured me that progress, while slow, is still progress.

I even learned how to turn my mistakes into something I can still appreciate. The tiny cup with a huge handle was the first handle I practiced with. Even though it ended up so big, my classmates were so supportive, commenting on how cute the juxtaposition of handle to cup and the half-heart shape of the handle were. The final spotted piece here occurred when the middle of the piece caved in on itself too much. Instead of throwing it away, I modeled the rest of the design after the indent.

What am I trying to say with this long-winded post? I’m not sure. This is more of a reminder to myself. That there will always be times when I feel inadequate, and the least capable in the room. But rather than sulk in it, I need to practice humility. To learn from those who know more, and sometimes to put in the work without seeing any significant progress, knowing that progress can come, slowly.