taste and skill
If you find yourself struggling, try to remember that struggle is a necessary part of your development. Sitting with the discomfort of not being good at something is a key that will eventually unlock new territory for growth.
Gosh it has been a massive week on the path to reclaim my creative life. I think I’ve managed to spend time with the clay every single day. As was to be expected, on some days the hour for creativity presented itself obviously, as if it were meant to be. But then on other days, I had to rearrange things, or let something go, or give myself a talking to, to remind myself of the importance of what I was doing. On one particular day there was almost an argument between me and another family member before I stopped, took a few deep breaths, and realised that I was just feeling guilty for prioritising myself. No one was trying to stop me, but me.
Sometimes I skipped up to the shed gleefully, thrilled with my decision and excited to get started, and then on other days the thought of being a beginner felt so much more difficult than doing a load of laundry or sweeping the floor. I’m always amazed by how appealing the dreaded housework looks to me when I’m procrastinating.
Each day I’d pop my headphones on and press play on a podcast or some music to shut out the rest of the world, then I’d split some wood, sweep some wood shavings up from under Bren’s lathe and start the fire.
Last Sunday as I was kneeling down by the fire-box, adding a few more logs, I think I lost my balance slightly and accidentally put my hand out and touched the hot metal to steady myself and burned the tips of three fingers on my right hand in the process. So annoyingly silly. The pain was intense on the Sunday. On Monday and Tuesday thick blisters formed but they weren’t all that painful. On Wednesday the blisters burst, and ever since they’ve been quite sore when I’ve touched things with them, and under hot water.
When it first happened my first thought was that there was no way I’d be able to use my right hand for at least a week and therefore my ceramics journey would have to be put on hold. I have to admit that part of me was relieved, the other part of course was devastated. How strange to wish for a way out of something I so desperately want. I can’t understand my sub conscience at all sometimes.
But thankfully I’ve been able to work around the annoyance by using other parts of my fingers and hands, and by wearing a glove. The glove prevents me from making a smooth surface on the clay using my fingers, but at least it enables me to keep going, so I’m not complaining.
Back to the process - once the fire was roaring, I’d clear my work space, gather up my tools, and fill a bucket with warm water.
Then I’d get the clay out of the bag.
I kept reminding myself all week that my aim is to embrace the entire creative clay path. To immerse myself in each stage slowly and consciously, and not rush through them to the next.
While I wedged, I made myself really feel the texture and temperature and consistency of the clay. Each time I tried to hurry through to the wheel, I brought my thoughts back to my technique and to the purpose. Sometimes I counted the wedges and at other times it felt more mechanical, as I focused in on my whole body’s movements, and the sound the clay made as I pushed it against the concrete bench top.
Then I patted each lump into a ball, getting rid of each crease and lump in the process.
And then I’d sit down at the wheel, throw the ball of clay onto the centre of the wheel-head, push it down, pull it up a few times, centre it and then open it out. After that I made cylinders over and over again, and at the end end of the week I started making some bowls.
No matter how the shapes turn out or how tempted I am to keep them, I have committed to the process rather than the end result. As soon as I have finished, I cut the clay off the wheel and push it back into a ball ready to be wedged so I can start the process all over again when I’m done.
Basically I tried to make the same shapes over and over and over again, absorbing myself in the process, refining my technique and trying to form muscle memory.
Being a beginner is so hard. And learning a new craft doesn’t happen in a straight line. Even though I tried my hardest to remain quiet and centred, the reality was that I couldn’t stop the self judgment and the emotions from barging on through. The good and the bad. I went from feeling patient and zen, to feeling full of self doubt, to hopeful, to frustrated, to quietly optimistic, to annoyed, to inspired, to passionate, to being filled with excitement at my potential, to wanting to walk away, to wanting to never ever stop.
At times I probably made every single mistake a beginner can make.
But I promised myself that I would stick to this journey as a creative opportunity and not an end goal achievement. So I slowed down, I scanned my whole body position, focusing on how I was sitting and my posture. Then I checked my elbows, hands and fingers, and I persevered.
And then there’s the enormous gap between taste and skill. I don’t want to just be able to make things, I want them to be aesthetically beautiful shapes that I’m proud of and love. Thank you Ira Glass for explaining this issue so beautifully in this video.
Even though I’ve committed this time to learning and refining my skills, I can’t help but keep my eye on the prize. I can’t help but hope that I’ll get there faster than planned. I want to make beautiful bowls and pots and plates and planters and vases and mugs and cups. I want to fill my shelves, and my kiln, and my house with fabulous pieces.
But I do know that I have to put in the hours. I have to weigh the clay out into many portions of the same weight, and then make the same shape over and over and over until it becomes second nature. Until my hands and my skills catch up with my design sense. Until it’s rhythmical and smooth.
I have to practice and practice and practice and then practise some more. Luckily I love it. I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m starting to feel creative and inspired and like my hopes to reignite my personal creative flame with this project are coming true. Yay!
And while I’ve been obsessing over my ceramic obsession, days have passed and spring has sprung. Although September is characteristically our most stormy and unstable month here, there are most definitely season changing signs about the place; The ornamental almond is in blossom, the daffodils and jonquils are abloom, there is a scattering of poppies here and there, there are new buds and leaves about the place, and generally things feel like they’re waking up.
Progress on the festival sweater has been slow because of my burnt fingers, but when a baby sleeve only has 56 stitches on it, slow is still steady.
Which reminds me that my Bracken sweater is still sitting here patiently waiting to be blocked and then photographed. Hopefully for next week’s blog.
And lastly this is my current library book pile. I’m about halfway through The Bluffs and not really loving it. I’ve been tempted to put it down a few times, but the fact that there are so many references to places in Tasmania where my family have lived and we have bush walked over the years, has kept me invested. Hopefully it improves from here.
Enough about me, how have you been? Are there signs of the new season in the air where you are? Are you making something that you love? Are you reading a good book? Or watching a good series? Or cooking something wonderful? Please tell us.
I hope you have a really lovely weekend.
Love, Kate x
