aching for clay

  Today my body aches to smush my fists into a wet, smooth mound of clay, using my hands and fingers to delicately smooth the chunk into curves and lines and ripples, and the exciting anticipation to see what emerges. 

I can see myself pulling into the parking lot for Deb’s class at Maryland Hall for the Arts. I’d have in hand a half-eaten gyro from Chris’s Charcoal Pit (on West St in Annapolis). 

I’d pull my project out of its storage space and find a seat among the other women in class and we’d talk about our previous week (since last class), we’d check in on the progress of each other’s projects, and ogle over someone’s masterpiece that had newly emerged from the kiln. 

We’d ask for each other’s opinions on wild and risky plans for layers of glaze. We’d share thoughts, feelings, and ideas about the different shapes and textures that emerge from our respective mounds of grey mud.

Deb would probably demonstrate some new technique that pushes us to think beyond the bounds of our imagination of what one can do with clay. We are inspired by this, and build upon it and get excited by each others’ work. 

You would be able to see in our work the way in which we support and inspire eachother. 

What am I going to do about all of this?  I’m heading home from campus right now on the bus. I’m going to put aside school work for a few hours and go into the back of my closet and dig out a block of clay that someone was getting rid of and I rescued. I’ll see if it’s wet enough to work with and then see what happens. I might also get out the water colors and paint. We shall see…

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