In 2022, I found myself in a bit of a squabble with my dear dad, prompting me to seek refuge away from the familiar four walls of home sweet home. So, I did what any reasonable person would do – I booked a room at a nearby hotel for the night. It wasn’t an exotic escape, mind you; just a brisk thirty-minute stroll from the scene of the family feud.
That night, as I decompressed in my temporary sanctuary, the tension dissipated into thin air. But what caught me off guard was stumbling upon a delightful ceramics studio nestled in the neighborhood. Always harboring a secret desire to try my hand at pottery, the studio’s serene vibe beckoned me in. Little did I know, it would become my go-to creative sanctuary whenever I visited Costa Rica.
This time, I marched into the studio on a mission. Armed with a strict sabbatical to-do list, crafting pieces for my upcoming art exhibit topped the agenda. I strutted in, sketches in hand, ready to unleash my artistic fury.
Stepping into that studio felt like a warm hug from an old friend. Serenity washed over me like a warm breeze. The sun kissed the pottery wheels, and my classmates’ creations danced in the light.
Ah, tranquility.
I exchanged pleasantries with Esteban, my pottery teacher, and reminded him of the piece I had created last year—a flower vase in the shape of a woman’s face with Medusa-like hair. Twenty hours of meditative work and clay went into that pretty lady.
“Excellent!” he chirped, “Now we are going to move on to the pottery wheel”, as he pointed me towards that intimidating beast lurking in the corner of the studio.
Cue my internal sulking. “But wait,” I thought, “Aren’t you curious about my brilliant ideas?“
Outwardly, I mumbled a feeble “Sure,” masking my insecurity with a smile.
As I plopped onto that stool, I pondered: “What on earth am I making, and how does it fit into my meticulously planned checklist?”
Little did I realize, this seemingly innocuous surrender would mark the beginning of a profound journey—one that would teach me invaluable life lessons disguised as clumps of clay. To navigate this sabbatical with my sanity intact, I needed to be as malleable as the clay beneath my fingers.
Here’s a breakdown of the invaluable wisdom gained from my adventures in pottery:
Social Media
Illusions.
Ah, the grand illusion of social media—the place where everyone becomes a Picasso after one pottery class. Take a scroll through Instagram, and you’ll encounter a virtual gallery of flawlessly crafted masterpieces, each one racking up likes and praise. But peel back the filters, and you’ll uncover a harsh reality: true mastery isn’t found in double-taps and emojis. It’s forged in the furnace of hard work and dedication.
Now let me confess my sins: last year, I fell hook, line, and sinker for this charade. Picture it: Yours Truly, proudly presenting a picture-perfect vase like I’d been sculpting since the cradle.
Spoiler alert: I was faking it.
Before I took the plunge and joined the studio, I dipped my toe into the world of ceramics at a free workshop where we had the chance to have our first contact with the pottery wheel. With Dad beaming beside me, I barely grazed the clay on that wheel like I was afraid it might bite, yet I managed to miraculously craft a flawless vase with seemingly effortless finesse. Flashing a grin as cheesy as aged cheddar, I immortalized “my” masterpiece on social media, greedily soaking in the praise like a thirsty sponge. Unmentioned on social media, however, was the obvious fact that the benevolent teacher was gently guiding my hands like the world’s kindest puppet master.
Oh, the shameless deception! I lapped up those likes and pats on the back, fooling everyone (including myself) into thinking I was a pottery prodigy.
Learn to
Enjoy the Process.
Ah, the saga of me versus the pottery wheel—a tale of love, hate, and mud-splattered glasses. Let me set the scene: Profe Esteban, the pottery maestro, pointed me toward what he lovingly called the “crazy pottery wheel.” Picture a Ferrari on steroids—100,000 miles an hour, stopping on a dime at the slightest pedal slip. I was in the the challenge to control that monster.
This time, there was no gentle hand-holding from the teacher. Oh no, I was flying solo, with nothing but my wits and a heap of clay.
Now, Esteban had warned me: it’s a love-hate relationship. But I would not be romanced.
As I tentatively approached, Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze’s pottery scene from “Ghost” played on repeat in my mind. Let me tell you, the reality was far less romantic.
“Liars”, I muttered under my breath as my clay slithered and squirmed like a snake on a hot griddle, defying my every attempt to tame it.
And let’s talk about the casualties, shall we? My poor left hand got the spa treatment of a lifetime, enduring a violent DIY exfoliation session as it grazed that rough sandy metallic surface. Meanwhile, my once-promising masterpiece went from “potential exhibit material” to “tragic clay disaster,” in the careless slip of a hand, much to the horror of my classmates. I found myself questioning my sanity.
As my teacher came to my aid and slapped down my unruly blob of clay with determined gusto to center that thing on the wheel, droplets of mud splashed onto my glasses and all over my face. I couldn’t help but laugh in shock (yes it’s a thing!)
Amidst the chaos, a realization dawned: it wasn’t about the end result—it was about finding the beauty in the chaotic process. So, with mud in my hair and clay up my nose, I soldiered on, practicing over and over again, one blob of pre-kneaded clay at a time.
And while I did not have a plan as to what I would be creating as my first project, the process inspired me to create a series organically that I am extremely proud of. Sometimes, the most rewarding journeys are the ones filled with bumps, bruises, and a healthy dose of humility.
Functionality Over Frills.
In the world of advertising, I was accustomed to prioritizing aesthetics over functionality, focusing on creating visually stunning campaigns without much say in the product itself. But in the pottery studio, I learned a valuable lesson: beauty without purpose is like a vase without a bottom – empty and devoid of meaning.
One of the projects I would want to create this time around was an ocarina (a wind musical instrument) in the shape of a woman. I was inspired to create this piece last year as I suffered from intense body pains on my upper left chest and shoulder area, most probably stress-related and having pushed myself past my physical limits. It wouldn’t be any ordinary ocarina though – it would be a malfunctioning ocarina, reflecting the excruciating pains that I had experienced. This ocarina is intended to serve as a gentle reminder of the importance of always listening to one’s body, a message that should never be ignored.
Here were some initial sketches of how I imagined this art piece.
I went into class confident that this project would be a quickie. After all, how difficult would it be to make a musical instrument that doesn’t work properly, right?
Wrong.
Turns out, crafting a flawed instrument requires mastering the art of functionality first. No shortcuts allowed; I had to follow the rules, as tedious as they may be. So, I embarked on the painstaking journey of crafting a flawless ocarina from scratch.
First up: the vessel. I toiled to achieve the perfect wall thickness, the sweet spot for airflow, ensuring my ocarina sang its heart out. Then came the tricky part – the mouthpiece. Hours of trial and error were spent perfecting it, with angles and sizes scrutinized like a detective on a murder case. Countless lungfuls of air later, I nailed it. And oh, the sweet sound of success when my ocarina finally sang clear and true without obstructions – that was a good day!
With the basics down, I could indulge in embellishments and it was smooth sailing from there.
This process was definitely a test to my patience, but I understood how essential going through each step was. The real artistry lay not in those fancy frills, but in the solid foundation of functionality. Each curve, each contour, had a purpose beyond mere looks – a lesson in true craftsmanship.
Beauty’s just a bonus.
Screw
Perfection.
Living in a world hell-bent on flawless facades, embracing imperfection becomes an act of rebellion, a middle finger to the plastic perfection we’re force-fed. Enter wabi sabi, the Japanese art of finding beauty in imperfection, a beacon guiding me through my ceramic escapades. I’ve learned to cherish the wonky edges, the off-kilter curves, and the delightful asymmetry of handmade treasures.
You see, in the realm of ceramics, every little variable – the kiln’s temperature, the air’s dryness, even the thickness of the varnish – plays its part in the grand drama of creation. None of my pieces ever turned out exactly as I imagined when I first stepped foot in the studio. But instead of tearing my hair out in frustration, I opened my arms wide to the delightful surprises that made each piece uniquely mine, capturing a fleeting moment of time in clay.
Takeaway? Perfection is vastly overrated, but imperfection? It’s pure, unadulterated magic.
Conclusion.
In closing, my journey through the world of ceramics has been a wonderful ride, filled with messy mishaps and profound revelations. As I continue to mold and shape clay, I carry with me these invaluable life lessons – reminders of the beauty that lies in the imperfect, the chaotic, and the gloriously messy process of creation. Moreover, I have found a re-appreciation for true mastery towards the crafts, which one can only achieve with patience, humility, and dedication.
Here’s to relishing the process, finding beauty in life’s imperfections, and embracing the boundless potential in every lump of clay, each a promise of a masterpiece in the making.
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