The pottery wheel. Quietly whirling, always centered. Once you are pulled in by its magic, it is hard to let it go. There is no end to the lessons of the wheel. As soon as you think you have mastered it, it humbles you. As soon as you are humble, it lets you make something breathtaking.
People are always amazed how very difficult it is to throw a pot. It's difficult. It's even more difficult to throw a good one, or to throw ten that somewhat look like each other.
Becoming a master can take a lifetime.
But still, you try.
If you are working on the wheel, and you forget to focus, even for a minute, the clay goes off center.
The wheel demands, over and over, that you stay in the moment. Focused. Centered. It will not forgive you if you forget this. It will make you pay.
With a big pile of wet clay that you have to rework.
The wheel is my tool for finding my center. It's been that way for years now. If I work at the wheel, I forget everything. I only see clay gliding smoothly under my wet fingers. I only feel the moment. I only imagine getting as much clay as possible off the wheel and up into the air. To form a new pot. A new bowl. A new plate. A new rice bowl. A new vase.
A new me.
The wheel is all about