Clay, My Love...

I remember the first time that I ever witnessed someone throwing pots. I was five years old; one of my all time favorite teachers, Miss Daniels, took our Kindergarten class on a field trip across the street to the high school art building. She wanted to show us what the high school kids were up to. It was one of my favorite field trips of all time, and we only went across the street. It was then that I witnessed it, clay being thrown on a potter's wheel. Now, I had spent a lot of time playing with Play-do and modeling clay, but this was a whole other level of artistic ability.

We walked into Mr. Cruisie's art class, and he showed us the photography studio, the painting studio and the drawing studio. There was even a model sitting for some people who were busy drawing. No one paid much attention to us. We were five, after all. Then Mr. Cruisie took us to a corner on the other side of the classroom. There seemed to be nothing going on over in the corner, there was just a lonely partition. As soon as I peeked around the corner of the partition, my mouth dropped to the floor and I stood there staring, in awe. Behind that partition, next to the window, sat a beautiful girl with long blonde hair. The sun was shining in through the window, but it was muted and ethereal looking. This girl, she just so happened to be throwing porcelain. She didn't even acknowledge our existence. She just looked so calm, so peaceful. I stood there staring at her hands moving up and down the wet clay spinning around. I think I stood there for so long that the teachers had to come and shoo me away when it was time to leave. I just kept watching her as long as I could. Then we were off to our own classroom.

This is a very vivid memory for me. I remember the way that the dust floated in the air, amplified by the beams of sunlight streaming in through the window. I remember the look on her face, like she was off in some other world. I remember watching the pot get bigger and bigger beneath her muddy hands. I remember just how beautiful this girl was to my five year old self. I wanted to grow up to be just like her.

It sort of amuses me to look back on this memory, which consisted of only a few moments of my life. It always makes me smile to myself. It makes me smile all the more when people ask me, "Did you become a potter because of the movie, "Ghost." You would be surprised how many people ask me that question. I just smile at them, think back to my former five year old self, and reply, "No."