I have seven more weeks in ceramics class. On Friday (suprisingly), we touch the wheel for the first time. I am drastically scared. However, I am not concerned about being an ultimate failure at pottery. I adore making coil pots. My pots that I’ve made this semester have become like children. They spring from the most bizarre inspirations and gather odd reactions.
I love the feeling of smacking down a good ten pounds of clay on a sturdy table. I love the feeling of muscle memory in the heels of my hands; knowing what to do, how to weave the substance, how to pull it into something substantially beautiful.
Mar 15, 2006, 10:39PM PST | 0 comments
I will only be on this list for a few more weeks—I’ve signed up for a ceramics class to take in the spring.
I’ll be up to my elbows in clay and have to exist like that for the rest of an academic day.
Somehow it makes me want to throw a paintbrush in my back pocket and wear my hair tossed high.
Pottery is romantic. I hope I’m not terrible.
Dec 24, 2005, 08:19AM PST | 0 comments
The boy’s first real love works in a bookstore. Somehow, when I open the glass doors, I always think of her. Somehow, it never hurts. We’re going to visit her someday.
Someday I’ll work there too. Maybe grad school. I’d like to stand in the middle of the children’s section and help hapless grandparents find the perfect book for an eleven year old girl.
Dec 24, 2005, 08:17AM PST | 1 cheer | 0 comments
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