The Art of Pottery: Molding Clay and Cultivating Wisdom

Last month, my partner asked me to join her in a beginner’s pottery class for a month. The studio was nearby, and I hadn’t experienced the joys of constructing physical art since middle school when it was a requirement. As someone who has experienced burnout, I learned how vital art and play can be in recovering from burnout or expanding the aperture of your daily life and experience.

In life, every encounter has the potential to be transformative and teach us valuable lessons. This craft requires intention, presence, and attention and offers a profound experience if you let it.

Pottery making, just as improv, sketching, or playing games like a child (all of which I now regularly participate in), is incredibly effective at rejuvenating your energy and spirits with the same activities that nourish children in their formative years. So I signed up for the class and entered my first pottery studio with an open mind. Perhaps, I’d even discover a hidden talent!

As I dove into pottery, I realized it was not simply manipulating clay into something of value. Instead, it was an exercise in mindfulness and immersion. Just as life, with its ebbs and flows, necessitates our undivided attention to truly experience what is unfolding before us (instead of being buried in our multitude of screens), so does the craft of pottery making.

As someone with a type A personality, I often multitask or find ways to streamline my work. As an entrepreneur, being more productive and efficient with my time and resources is key to a successful business. And while there is some virtue in being effective and efficient in the workplace, that doesn’t mean that the rest of our waking hours must always be productive.

This driven mindset did not serve me well when I tried to apply it to pottery making. One evening, I attempted to create two mugs at once using slabs on a cylindrical mold to scale up my production process as a novice. Unfortunately for me, this attempt at efficiency was far from successful, and I must admit that my attempt was quite ludicrous. It was a sobering revelation, echoing the often hard-earned life lesson that art — and life — are about quality, not scale (where business usually get carried away), and about being present in the moment rather than rushing towards the finish line with a final product in hand.

Walking into the pottery studio as a novice amidst seasoned potters was akin to entering a foreign land of foreign customs and unknown propriety. There was something profoundly liberating about starting from ground zero, the unpaid intern, making mistakes, looking perhaps a bit foolish, learning, and growing, much like a child. I couldn’t help but feel energized and humbled by this new opportunity to learn with a beginners-mind truly.

I worked with the clay, patiently massaging it, getting my hands, fully invested in the kind of work they were designed to do. The kneading and sculpting were continuous and iterative as I became attuned to the clay’s subtle responses.

As soon as I walked into the pottery studio on my first evening, I was struck by the earthy scent of wet clay. The room was filled with spinning pottery wheels, the gentle hum of conversation, the zen-like ambiance of bright lights, and Mozart playing in the background. The occasional clink of tools against the worktables reminded me this was a workshop as much as a studio.

The walls were lined with racks full of finished pieces, each one a unique combination of textures and colors. At daily intervals, the kiln, an industrial oven, would be loaded up with the workings of the studio’s members, fired up, and then unloaded with beautifully fired clay as final or near-final pieces. I could feel the coolness of the clay beneath my fingers as I began to mold it, the smooth surface giving way to my touch. The experience was calming and invigorating, and I couldn’t wait to see what I would create.

As I delved deeper into pottery, I stood in awe by the maestros at the wheel. The way their fingers danced around their clay – as unique as a strand of our DNA – giving life to formless lumps. This was a vivid reminder of the beauty that emerges when patience and persistence merge to create meaningful art.

There was a particular late night in the studio when I finally experienced the coveted state of flow. Time dissolved, and the act of creating became an immersive experience. Despite the ultimate disappointment of not achieving my intended results, the process was nothing short of joyous. This experience served as a potent reminder that the process itself often holds more riches than the product or destination.

Through the lens of pottery, I was unexpectedly able to see a number of key lessons. Among these were the value of accepting imperfections, the everpresent ability to start anew, and the infinite potential for creation that is uniquely ours.

And lastly, the acceptance that we can influence our work and experience, but we are not ultimately in control of our outcomes (as many potters will attest following a particular piece being destroyed in the kiln). I melted, drawn into a world where perfectionism faded into the background, giving way to a celebration of unique imperfections. Pottery making, I learned, is a deeply human endeavor.

This realization led to me appreciating how pottery itself is a journey through time, a silent narrative that connect our shared humanity. The connection to our ancestors, who once made pottery with the same reverence and skill as we do today, was a humbling reminder of our deep roots in artistry, creativity, and the connection between humans and nature.

As I look back on my pottery experiences, I see a reflection of life itself — unique, challenging, fun, and ultimately beautiful. It’s this perspective that I will do my best to carry forward.