My pottery class has been wiping me out. Hand building I find relaxing, and I love working inwards, zoning out with the clay... But when I work on the wheel - it's work. It physically exhausts me and I go home, incapable of doing anything in the evening. Two weeks in a row I have pretty much collapsed on the sofa, covered in dried muck - too pooped to cook.
I urgently desire to be skilled at the wheel. I want to make a beautiful set of mugs. My ego is fucking me up, and I have to let it go.
The reason I am taking pottery is to enrich myself. I am there to chill with the clay. Is it supposed to be a warm, fuzzy, safe place for me to create in... Or, am I there to be challenged? Should I force myself to get stronger, be better?
My tired self wants to sit in a corner and play with clay. My ambitious self wants to learn.
It's a conundrum.
What I have made so far, is beautiful. Even my ugly attempts at the wheel I make beautiful. I will use what I am making as well. My teacher said to use what I make, to make those pieces a part of my every day life, to learn them and to see how they work for me.
I think I'm meant to keep trying.