Clay Confessions

My first time with the wheel. Being highly mental, my line of thoughts bordered on the lame, the stupid, and the crazy. Oh yeah, and the sexual too.

Kneading: Where should the force come from? Shoulders or knees? I think I'm doing it all wrong. I look silly. Ram's head? Mine looked like blob.

As Joey showed the process: This is freakingly awesome. I can't remember the step-by-step much. Caught by the moving spirals. Breathtakingly pretty. Total wow.

Throwing the clay: Er, can I just place it gently? Thank god Joey helped.

My first try: Too fast--and messy. Stop. Breathe. Try again.

My second try: This is not Ghost-like romantic. It looked so gentle in the flick. Clay bumps are far from gentle.

After a few minutes: What the hell is centering? This clay is a stubborn one. Er, Joey? Help? Thanks.

Creating a hole: My fingers are short and small--I can't reach the near bottom!

Pulling: Why can't my bowl create flowing spirals like Joey's? Thinking too much and bam--it collapsed. Shit.

My last hour: My hands are trembling. I can't center. Frustrated. My feet and arms are dirty. I have dried clay on my forehead. My back is slick with sweat. My clay is wobbling like mad. Seriously feel like subduing an angry penis.

In the end: Pottery is force and control. Not my strongest suits.

The verdict: Need to go home and contemplate. Disappointed. One of the few instances I badly wanted something and realized it's not for me. To continue means to go against my very element. Seriously torn. But the real problem is: How do I stop?