The only pot I ever fired
I was a bit odd as a teenager, still am I suppose. I grew up in a unique town where more than 90% of the population were members of the same christian church. For a high school student, this meant that most of the student body had a release period each day where they would walk across the parking lot to a church-owned seminary building for bible study. Attendance at seminary was lax, and many students would "sluff" (Idaho speak for skipping class). I was one of those students.
Like many students, I vied for first period seminary. Unlike many students, I didn't want first period seminary so that I could sleep in a bit longer. Instead, I would go to school 45 minutes early, eat breakfast in the cafeteria with friends, and then go into the ceramics lab to throw pots. Blaring the Decemberists through my headphones, I would throw pot after pot, skipping my first period seminary.
The ceramics lab and adjoining art room were my sanctuary in high school. The art teachers, Mr. Prescott and Mrs. Burgie, were kind and understanding. They created an environment in which students like myself felt comfortable. Their influence has impacted my life immensely.
Despite the huge amount of time I spent throwing pots, I never got very good at it. But then again, that wasn't why I was throwing pots. I would build them up and smash them back down, over and over. Something about the cool wet clay and the spinning of the wheel calmed the angst and anxieties that accompany adolescence. I preferred the non-electric kick wheels.
In the 3 years of high school that I spent throwing countless pots, I only ever fired one of them. It's not a masterpiece, in fact it was an accident, a beautiful accident. While thinning the walls of a rather non-descript pot I made a bit a the base too thin and it collapsed. I pulled my hands away quickly and drug my foot on the kick to slow the wheel. I was thrilled to discover that the pot had collapsed, creating folds evenly distributed around the base.
I don't know much about ceramics, but I'm fairly sure there is no feasible way of replicating the way this pot folded. I didn't have the heart to smash it like I had every pot before it; I cut it off the wheel, fired, and glazed it. It became a gift for my mother. She graciously emptied the pens and whatnot from the pot to take these images for me. Let me know what you think.
