Friday, July 20, 2007

Klutzing with Clay

For the last five weeks I’ve been wedging, coiling, slabbing, slumping and throwing off the hump.  Sound like steps in the latest retro dance craze?  A New Age-y group encounter programme?  Nope, these are all basic techniques in making pottery by hand.

I decided to take a summer ceramics class at South Bend’s art museum, partly to remind myself what it’s like to be a student.  Though we teachers do wax lyrical about the pleasures of learning new skills and broadening horizons, we may forget the darker side of learning – the frustration, the fear of screwing up in front of your peers.  It’s worth recalling those challenges come the fall. Secretly, of course, I expected to be a natural with clay.

In the first class, I learned that I have no special talent.  Our teacher Laura, a down-to-earth and cheerful woman, instructed us to “Make a ball of clay and stick your thumb in the centre.  Like this.” She demonstrated: “This is the easiest way to make a pot.  Mould the clay with your thumb and fingers against the palm of your opposite hand.  Like so.” She deftly squeezed her clay into a perfect bowl shape.  “Next I’ll show you how to make coil pots.”

My classmates look up in consternation:  we’re still struggling with step one.  Is my clay ball round enough?  Just how far in should you stick your thumb?  We all want our teacher’s approval before venturing to the next step.  We mob her like kindergarteners demanding attention.  She scrutinizes my efforts.  I see that my pinch pot is lopsided and squat, like a brooding hen.  I struggle some more, then add a beak and call it quits.

After coiled clay, spiraling ropes of clay into sturdy forms, we move on to slab pots.  You run blocks of clay through a giant pasta machine, and out roll beautiful even sheets of clay.  The sheets can be slumped into hollow moulds or draped over the back of dishes to make three dimensional forms.  Our teacher whips out a trio of wine-coolers by wrapping clay around cardboard tubes and crimping the seams together like pastry.  “How hard can it be?” we think … and then find out.

At last, we’re primed to try throwing pots.  Laura pulls up a stool to demonstrate.  The wheel is a rotating metal disc, set just above a circular plastic drip tray, all bolted a couple of feet off the floor.  The contraption is between her knees, her forearms sturdy on the edge of the drip tray, and her nose over the centre of the wheel.  She slaps down a cone of clay, moistens her hands and steps on the pedal to start the wheel turning.

In Laura’s capable hands, the clay obediently gathers into a glistening brown dome, like a tame seal surfacing through the wheel-head.  She pushes two fingers into the centre of the dome to make a hole, then draws them outwards along a radius towards her, and the clay opens up.  Her hands are slick with creamy wet clay, like gloves of melted chocolate.  She adds a trickle of water, and lifts the clay vertically between knuckle and fingertips into a perfect cylinder.  Then she stops the wheel and says it’s our turn.  Behind Laura’s back, we roll our eyes at her outrageous ambitions for us.

As I struggle with the wheel, a sideways glance reveals that a fellow student has already centred her clay.  I’m shot through with envy.  My clay is way off centre, and my wrists are too weak to nudge it into position, as Laura had demonstrated.  The clay is wobbling heavily and dragging my hands with it from side to side.  Panicked, I step harder on the pedal and the clay spins faster out of control.  It rears up and shimmies like an overfed cobra, and heaves out of my grasp.  I am mortified and spattered all over with clay.  “Well,” I think, “at least there’s next class.”

This weekend, I had the pleasure of browsing the Krasl Art Fair, along the bluffs of St Joe Michigan.  I was especially drawn to the pottery stalls: I have at least learned to judge the skill of others, if I lack it myself.  Perhaps, too, I’ll have more understanding of my own students, when I’m back in my teacher role come the fall.

Broadcast by Louise Collins on July 20, 2007
Arts & Entertainment • Education • Sports & Recreation • Permalink • Printer Friendly
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Joe Chaney -- More essays by Joe

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