Alice cleverly convinced me to sign up for a pot throwing class with her. We couldn't fit the kid's class into our schedule, but the kind gentleman who runs the place said she'd be fine in one of the adult classes and I could come too if I wanted. I have yearned to throw pots in the same way I have yearned to spin and weave for years now. It isn't a burning kind of yearning, but one that persists from year to year.
In class today, our second so far, Alice and I made rapid progress backwards. Where we had both thrown fairly competent and rational looking things last week, this week all was wabbly and floppy. I realized I do my nicest work when it doesn't matter – clearly I need a certain level of relaxation to accomplish pots – and with practice clay. So I kept thrashing around with more and more water and clay…and ultimately produced only one thing I wanted to dry out and mess with further. But that one thing may be my cereal bowl if it comes out of the kiln well.
Alice was having similar problems with intensity of trying. Last week she produced a series of interesting little Ali Baba pots with bulbous bodies and little necks and flared tops. This week she was most interested in a double container, looking rather like a candle holder in a deep dish. She made a series of these and each time they were close to finished looking, she'd try to push it just a little farther or thinner and it would splorch. She is remarkably patient and resilient, but it wore thin on her after a while so we cleaned up and came home early.
There will be pictures when I remeber to bring my camera to class, or I manage to bring a piece home.