Capture the Wind

I take a deep breath, wrap my hands around the ball of clay and press down on the pedal. It is late at night or early in the morning, and if I am really fortunate, a daytime visit to the studio. The clay jerks my arms in rhythm with the rotation. My palms press firmly into the top and side surfaces of the clay.

The rest of my life falls away: the never ending to-do lists, the reality of two jobs, two kids, a husband, and a house. A weight lifts from my chest and I lean in and breathe. The resistance gives and there is that instance when the rotation becomes silky and smooth. Centered.

I pause.

Anything is possible.

This is the moment I feel in my dreams.

I met a boy. Ceramics was just a class I took for fun on my way to Political Science Degree. The boy brought me lunch. I was covered from head to toe in mud and the mess was all I had to show for my hours at the pottery wheel. I kept re-enrolling until they told me if I wanted to keep taking the class I also had get an Art Degree. It seemed like a reasonable request. The boy and I kept dating. I kept throwing. We got engaged. I added a Masters in Plant and Soil Science. We got married. I had a baby. We finished school. Ceramics was a constant in the background of my life.

We moved.

I wake gasping for air. The tactile experience of the clay beneath my hands so real that I am momentarily lost and disoriented. I am pulled into the present by a crying toddler, the reality of a new town, a second baby on the way. Everything is fine. It is fine, but I feel off kilter.

I make excuses.

There is too much to do. I am scared of new spaces. We don’t have enough money. There is too much to do. I don’t know the rules. There is always too much to do.

My husband gifts me a ceramics class for Christmas and gently nudges me out of the house at bed time: “We will be fine”. It is terrifying.

I am out of practice. I wrestle the clay. I wrestle with self-doubt, guilt, boundaries, fear, and self-imposed expectations. The clay pushes me and I push back: not enough, too much, until the force is even. Balanced.

Finally.

Anything is possible.

Once the clay is centered it transforms to a thing of beauty. Each vessel becoming both a canvas and an item to be used in the everyday routine. Every piece attempting to capture the beauty of place and the job of small moments in everyday life – house plants, dandelions in my garden, wildflowers on the hill on the edge of my neighborhood, and the adventures we share as a family.

I touch each piece a hundred times. Between loads of laundry, watering the garden, work calls and helping with stacks of school work, I capture the wind.

Projects spill into each other and bump into the necessities of daily life. The extra room we built unable to contain the creativity as glue and paper, needles and thread, cardboard and hot glue guns, and my boxes of half-finished mugs take over the dining room table, the coffee table, the kitchen bar, sprawl across the floor, and stack up in the corners of rooms. We are a family of makers. Life is a whirlwind of activity.

As we dance around each other we move through space and time. In the chaos we seek the center of every whirl. We discover the quiet space, balanced and centered, in which everything is possible.

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this story, please consider dropping it a heart, sharing, or reading my first vocal story: Pocket Treasures

If you'd like to keep up with my art, urban homestead or family adventures, check out my Instagram account: @busyhandshomestead.

and hey - I have an etsy shop were I sell my creations!