Nostalgia.

Smoosh, smoosh, smoosh… pat, pat, pat… those are the very first steps I learned in my pottery throwing class. You probably think I am taking a class for five year olds but learning the wheel is an incredibly difficult task. Let me start out by saying, the class was AMAZING and I loved it! I have had a passion for clay since I was in high school and being reunited with clay has made life a little bit better.

Our teacher warned us that she would speak to us like children because the less direction, the better. I couldn’t agree more. The worst kind of teacher is someone who throws out a bunch of information at you and expects you to get it on the first try. Our teacher has been doing pottery for twenty years and has her own studio so she knew exactly how to teach us. The class was filled with advanced students, intermediate and then the four of us beginners who took to throwing with an open and quite silly mind.

I am the youngest in a class full of women, my mother being one of them, and I couldn’t have had more fun. Everyone was so nice and welcoming. It reminded me of when I was little, when I would tag along with my grandmother to her painting classes. I think back on those warm summer days when she would pick me up and take me to her painting class with her old lady friends. During the couple of hours away from everything, they would chat about their kids, their grandchildren and enjoy the company of their fellow painters. After my first pottery class I felt nostalgia for the times I shared with my grandmother and her painting friends. I miss her everyday and I wouldn’t be the artistic person I am today if it wasn’t for her, I hope she’s proud. So whenever I smoosh, smoosh, smoosh and pat, pat, pat, I'll be thinking of her and all the good memories we shared.



Our first project was to make bowls... they definitely didn't come out this pretty (or round)