Art: Intro to Ceramics
This year, I picked up ceramics. For a long time, I felt as if it was an unattainable, off-limits-to-me type of art. I don’t know why.
Back in May, I had a sudden urge to book myself a class and try it for the first time. Funnily enough, a friend’s birthday party at a ceramics studio was coming up and I ended up very much enjoying it.
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I always kind of saw ceramics as a snooty art. Only rich snobs who claim to be artists make ceramics. I remember a long time ago, there was a scene in the drama, “Boys Over Flowers”. One of the leads was a ceramic genius and had his fortune because he had the “gentle hands and touch of a prince” or some nonsense like that.
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From afar, I would watch story after story on Instagram - a pool of depressed, overcompensating single people going to ceramics classes. They would get really good at it and then manage to sell their pieces. I would visit the local LA AAPI market and somehow, their pieces would always be shelved. I’d chuckle.. Funny how far depression can get you in art.
For some odd reason, I think it’s cringey when certain people try to portray and sell their art like that. Maybe I feel like it’s disingenuous. Maybe I felt like they were trying too hard to prove something? Like, “I swear I’m an artist even though I just started calling myself that a week ago!” (This has since become relatable to me and I’ll elaborate on it soon).
This got me thinking. Before I hit the button to purchase a class, I had the sudden urge to reflect. Why am I doing this? I used to think it was so pretentious. Do I have something I want to prove…who and why am I wanting to prove it? Was it to prove to someone that I could be a part of this world too? Did I secretly hate the people doing it just because I was jealous of them? Will I be so much cooler after I excel at this sector of art as well?
Then I touched clay (Dramatic much?).
It felt like I was playing with Playdoh. Adult Playdoh that is in itself moldable to what my creative heart desires. I felt like a child, but wasn’t embarrassed of it at all. Everyone there was doing it with me.
And then I spun it on the wheel. The act of spinning the clay to form an object, to kneed it, to shape it, and then to perfect it was ethereal. It was grounding.
The rules of the studio were simple, and very very freeing. I think that was a big part of my experience. “You can come anytime except for when classes are going on. Student clay is free to use and you can make anything you’d like for the duration of the month. Here’s the class schedule and the pin to get in. Good luck!” The rules were really up to me. I came whenever I could. Spun, shaped, carved, glazed… It truly is so relaxing. And so I began to understand why the broken hearted would like to be here. Nobody to really interrupt and you get to bring something to life.
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Also, as a crafty person, I usually get really good at something like this very quickly. But I was humbled. The first week of class, I was the one person who couldn’t accomplish “pulling up the walls.” I really had to just swallow back my frustration and try and try and try again. The practicing really disciplined me. Suddenly, I wanted nothing other than the, “gentle hands and touch of a prince.” I realized that I would never have guessed how talented the people I judged were.
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On Sundays, we learn about how God has shaped and molded us to be perfect in His eyes. I could’ve never seen the beauty of that imagery without putting my own hands on the wheel. Concentrated stillness and His perfecting craft will make beautiful vessels upon vessels - to be used for His glory.
God uses this art in His word for a reason and it’s beautiful. Clay is found in the earth, made from His own design. With carefulness and intention, He creates. Pottery, I realize, is another wonderful reminder of our maker. Its raw, ethereal beauty.
Since then, I’ve made a few pieces. Far from perfect, or even good, but it’s something! I very much enjoy it. I’ll be starting another class this Monday in the new town I’ve moved to. So that’ll be interesting! And the big moral of the story is that I shouldn’t be quick to judge. Haha.
