"I don't wanna color!"

This week is Pottery Boot Camp in my ceramics class. This means that the instructor is giving us all a crash course on how to use the wheel. For the past two months, I have been staring in quiet awe and fear of the wheel. Honestly, it looked like it could take my fingers off if it wanted to. I didn't want to give it the chance.

But tomorrow afternoon, I will be throwing clay. I will be staring, bewildered, at the lump of Earth that is spinning out of control and wonder what it would be like to take an accounting class. Then I'll realize I hate numbers, and losing a finger to the wheel will inhibit my ability to count to ten, so I better figure it out.

Anyway, Tuesday the instructor walked us through the steps of throwing on the wheel. Then he said; "AND NOW WE'RE GOING TO MAKE POSTERS TO HANG UP SO YOU'LL KNOW WHAT TO DO!"

Well, how about no? In the first place, you're the instructor. I don't want to read a poster if I get stuck, I want to ask you. If I don't understand I'm not going to magically know from looking at a poster made by a gaggle of other people who spent your demo looking at you like you were a wizard because we had no idea how to throw. They can't teach me!

In the second place, I don't want to color posters. I'm in college, not kindergarten. That is a very expensive poster. Rant over.

Where Do You Go?

I'm here, but I'm not always present.

This is most obvious when I'm plugged in and turned up and tuned out to the real world in ceramics class or during National Novel Writing Month. For me, I've found that I can't be creative when I'm so distracted by all the people and things around me.

This probably means that I'm not as creative as I should be.

I'm here, but I'm not always present.

Like when I'm sitting in class, staring at the wall. Or when I'm sitting on the bus, looking out the window. Or when I'm writing something disturbing, dredging up words and phrases and images that are better left buried in the basement of my psyche and not shared with the rest of the world.

Just because I can't sleep doesn't mean that no one should.

So these places that I go, and the things I hear...

I don't always keep them to myself.

They're just not as obvious as they could be.

Acceptance

I really love working with clay in ceramics.

I love cutting it off the block. I hate that clay that other people have touched. That claw is always dry and broken and crumbly and completely unco-operative. I refuse to use it. I make the instructor go and get me a fresh bag.

I stretch my wire taut, pull it towards me, catch the clay in my hands. I immediately start kneading it in my hands as I carry it towards the table. I'm already shaping the clay. As I warm it while I'm kneading it to get rid of air bubbles, those imperfections that I can never rid myself of in the real world.

I'm already asking the clay. I'm already asking it if it will do the things I need it to do. I'm already shaping it.

My fingers dig into the clay, pulling and pushing and tearing.

The clay will do what I ask it to. I just have to be patient. I just have to be willing to find the things that the clay will be and won't be. It's sometimes harder than it seems.