I was inspired to work with clay because ceramics has been a passion of my father's since his university days and I always admired his ability to work in a material that, for me, felt impossible. I saw pictures of his work in an old portfolio he had passed down to me. As a child, I was always impatient with the medium. I never made time for it or I gave up easily because it was one of those things that took too much time. The nature of clay (for a beginner) can be a little bit too unpredictable or over-complicated.
Now, as an adult (having branched out a little more artistically), I wanted to test the limits of my artistic dexterity and hence, decided to take a ceramics class to discover my own brand in the practice, just as I have done with ink or pastel.
Clay is probably one of the hardest materials I have ever encountered. It requires steady physical and emotional labor. It is not like ink or watercolor, where you can experience complete autonomy in what you create and how you create it. That is to say, with clay, there are rules and practices that are required to make your piece structurally durable and practical. So we operate within the realm of what the medium can allow us to do.
If the clay dries, it becomes “leather hard”. This is why one must be attentive--to prevent it from drying or becoming less malleable. If your clay becomes leather hard, you will be tempted to throw it away. But if you are really invested, you will learn to take the time you need to re-wedge it, slip it, and add moisture (but not too much moisture, as that will result in your clay becoming too fragile for the form to hold). If you fail to reconcile your clay and too much time passes, it will become “bone dry”.
You need the right amount of wedging and the right amount of moisture. Overall, you need time and consistency. My experience with clay slabs is that often, you may not get it all done in one sitting. You come back day after day and work a little to get the form you want. The way of clay is both tough and tender.
Throwing on a wheel is even more difficult as it is all about centering the clay and learning to work with it to find a form (as opposed to plying it).
My first time on the wheel was incredibly frustrating. I felt fragile, like the pitiful piece of clay I was working with. I was pressing hard, and in all the wrong areas, desperately trying to find a form or replicate the perfect image of a small vase that I held in my mind’s eye.
Sometimes, the effort that it takes to create something aesthetic can break you. This is because we, as artists, have a tendency to hold in our mind's eye a mental blueprint of the thing we want to make. However, sometimes or even often times, we struggle to replicate it in its exact form and entirety.
Notwithstanding, even if one finishes wedging, throwing, carving, slipping, and scoring-- even if one makes an object close to what they mapped out, there still exists the chance that it will not make it through the kiln (the oven in which clay is baked for an extended period of time before it is classified as a ceramic), as not every piece is strong enough or well-crafted enough to survive, and may shatter or melt.
Just the thought of my work being somehow shattered or melted in the kiln (or at the very least coming out with the wrong glaze design) has been a difficult feat for me to overcome in the realm of pottery. I continue my work in exploring this medium with dedication nonetheless (even though I know that I'd be devastated if I worked that hard on something, and it did not make it through the vitrification of the kiln).
Who knows if that which we work hard for, that has broken us or challenged us, will survive the kiln’s heat. It's kind of like what the Isley Brothers say in Footsteps in the Dark -- nothing we do can guarantee happiness (or perfection in this case). One might discover that the thing that they worked the hardest on might end up being more fragile than they thought, or coming out completely different than they intended.
Can we really be sure? Though I wonder if that's a real question...because it doesn't come easy and this kind of work is never immediate. For some, it takes no time at all. For others, it can take quite some time before you get what you want.
And I often question myself, if all the work I put in will be worth the product.
With careful introspection, I find that these thoughts are unavailing because ultimately, what happens during the firings is pretty much dependent on the time and work you put into solidifying the structure of your piece, which hopefully is sufficient.
Like the Isley brothers also say, "Do we really care?" ...This of course, is rhetorical: Ceramics is far too useful to give up. Take note that it is the only art we can eat off of…literally (something to consider for you fellow artists that intend to make art and “eat off of it”— as we say at Howard University in discussions about public art and profitability i.e making a living). So we keep doing it, even if we’ve had a couple failed pieces or broken vases.
To sum up, Clay. Is. Tough. Pun-intended.
I have had days I worked for hours on a piece, only to scrap it. I have had days I set out to create something, got lost in the process, and ended up with a creation I never even pictured. There were days I missed clay firings because I was too afraid my work would not make it out the same way. I’ve let pieces sit on my shelf bone dry because I’m too afraid I’ve allowed all my dedication to be monopolized by something structurally unsound.
How sad is it that I, like most other human beings, have found a way of over-complicating the simplest of things: by allowing my fear of shattered clay and structural imperfections to dictate whether or not I actually finish something in Ceramics class. These feelings can pollute my experience and I've realized they lack substance and productivity.
No matter what it is you’re making in Ceramics class, sometimes the purpose, the principle, and the process of how you work with what you have is just enough in and of itself. So it's really not so complicated after all. All clay is, and all it ever will be, is what you make of it.
Written with this song in mind:
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Art and Impact
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“People of Orphalease, be in your pleasures like the flowers and the bees.”—Khalil Gibran The Prophet