potterymaking and writing: a contrast of timeframes and intentions

When I make pots, I start with a clear picture in my mind of what I want. In terms of form, in terms of finish. Now that I’ve achieved a certain level of competency at the wheel and I understand my glazes, what comes out of the kiln usually matches that intention pretty well. There are surprises, but generally, within the process of making, the relationship between intention and outcome is a close one. 

I wedge a certain amount of clay - I’ve improved at estimating just how much I need for a form. Centre, use just enough water. Not too much, I like to keep the splash pan clean. Create a base, create the inner curve, take it out. First pull is a chunky one. Crab claw. Second, third, fourth pull. Popping any air bubbles on the way. Nudge the form into shape, refine, use a rib if I need to, especially at the base to get a satisfying curve. Scrape the slurry. Ugh, maybe one final pull. A gentle touch more than a pull. Letting my fingers be the final tool against the clay. I turn, biscuit fire, glaze, fire the pot to stoneware. A firing cycle I’ve refined for that particular finish. What comes out never fully matches the intention, but it gives specific directions on where to go next. Each new version reflecting a slow, deliberate process of refinement. Signposts.

This bud vase had a clear intention. This isn’t quite “it” but it is close. A form left with deliberate signs of the making, signs of the making put into the clay because I wanted them there. The texture of a heavy gauged wire, no turning except for the bevel at the base. The sharp edge of the bevel worn smooth by my thumb. A homely pot, a rustic pot. A considered pot.

When I write, I have no idea what the next sentence will be, I don’t know what the third word from now is going to be. A hazy idea in mind of the thing I want to right about. A loose direction. I put the pen to paper, usually pen to paper, not fingers to keyboard, and I don’t know what comes next. There is a starting place and a notion and that is it. The intention is simply to write. There is no fully formed idea in the way there can be with a finished pot.

The two ways of working, of creating, work well for me. I hadn’t appreciated their contrast in this way until very recently. Now that I see it I don’t know how I didn’t before. A perfect contrast, it makes sense why I enjoy both, it makes sense why I feel drawn to both.

I’m moving up north, to Inverness, very soon. A dream, we’ve always wanted to be up that way. Everything is boxed up. I don’t have a studio space yet. I hope it’s not long that my materials and equipment will be in storage. But in the meantime, I’m excited to give more attention to writing.

It’s always helped me to see, to process, to understand, to remember more clearly. I’m curious to see what a lack of studio by necessity will mean. I’m excited to see what a season of writing, a season of creating without clear intentions, looks like.