I had my very first pottery class last Thursday evening. We learned how to use the pottery wheel, to center the clay, to create a floor, to bring the walls of the clay up into the shape of a vessel. I have been anticipating this experience for a long time, along with playing bass, falling in love, plus a fourth thing too powerful to mention idly in the public realm–my bucket list of things I would like to experience intensely before I die. During the class, I had to resist the temptation to play and try instead to listen carefully to the instructor. I was surprised. My mind and hands went in many directions. I had to remind myself to tune into the instructor, look for the process, focus on technique. My overwhelming compulsion was to play, shape, be messy, feel and create the different consistencies of the clay, test the boundaries of what I could and couldn’t do. This is my instinct. Things I’ve internalized from studying music. How many different ways can you sing or play a series of notes until it becomes a melody. I am a bit frustrated that I do not have my own personal space to throw pots right now and work out all these questions and variables, but that’s life for now. I am working on that next piece. Here's a picture of my first pot below.