Learning to Center

Mary McCarthy

It was my great honor to participate in the International Guild of Miniature Artisans academy in Maine this past weekend to learn miniature pottery. Maine is my favorite state (of the thirtysomething I’ve seen so far), so I’m always thrilled to travel north from Maryland for the lobster, deliciously cool fresh air that ensures I won’t have a humidity-induced migraine during my stay, the blueberry ice cream, beachcombing, historic architecture, brilliant sunsets, and then some more lobster. 

I’d bought a miniature pottery wheel at home, promptly purchased the wrong kind of clay, and produced absolutely nothing, deciding to wait and learn from a professional. Our teacher, Troy Schmidt of Red Dragon Pottery in California, was perfect to learn from, not just for his expertise, but for his patient, calming nature in a setting that was stressful at times for a beginner depending on how much pressure we put on our innocent, fragile thimble-sized clay.. and likewise our often-thinned mental health. 

A six-day, seven-hour class that began at 8:00 a.m. was no joke. It was a crash course in tiny pottery on a tiny wheel. Somehow, I must’ve known it’d be at the limits of what I could handle, because I rented a little cabin on the lake in the woods where I could retreat (often crying on the drive), reinforcing the shaky foundations of my self-esteem by swinging on the porch swing, drinking in the sunset, getting high and creating a new moon crystal grid, and any other reiki-master woo-woo that could help me get through a week of the imposter syndrome I was experiencing at an astronomical level from being around such wildly talented people from 16 countries and 34 U.S. states. 

On day one, I was fairly sure I’d never be able to complete even the simplest of pots. My wheel rocked and rolled so hard I heard the “wobble baby wobble baby wobble baby wobble…” song on repeat in my head. I started learning some accidental life lessons along the week. The pottery wobbled because I was letting it control me— and don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t have a mind of its own. But I remembered my mom telling me about babies: you have to let a newborn know who’s in charge early or you’ll never get a good night’s sleep again. Dammit, pottery, you don’t own me. You might get to choose what you’re going to be someday because I do believe in free clay will, but I need to help shape you so you don’t end up like trash, too. Apply a bit more pressure, lovingly, so you know I care. 

The first thing you learn is how to center the clay. Centering. What a great life lesson. Don’t be off-kilter or all out of whack, or else the end result of your efforts will be off-balance too. Take the time to create a good, centered foundation. Sure, you can patch it up over and over later, but it’s best to start off centered.

And if things are completely fucked, know when to pack it and go for a fresh start. Don’t dig your heels in with a pile of clay you’re invested in because you have time in. Fixing and fixing is time consuming. Repeatedly during the week I found myself with Kenny Rogers in my head: you got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em… know when to walk away, and know when to run. 

But don’t be too much of a perfectionist. I used to always say “embrace mediocrity” and it drove my son crazy (he’s a Virgo), but never have I been more thrilled to be a non-OCD person than during my week learning pottery. Was this pot great? No. Was it good enough? Sure, since I’m just learning, and I’d like to move on to trying again with the next one. Now, I do actually have three Virgo placements in my own chart, so there were times, like when I learned trimming, where I could get down with learning to make things more detailed and better too, and I found that very rewarding. 

Transformation is beautiful. Especially during Pride month, it was so beautiful to learn and experience the process of glazing, and seeing work come out of the kiln in its new, glossy, colorful form after having been through its earlier cocoon stages. There’s so much magic and artistry in the choices you make with glazes and decoration that are so much fun: I can’t wait to explore them in future creations. 

Find the fun and create from the heart. In a week that could feel heavy and exhausting at times in learning (and often failing at) something new, I felt like it was important to create a few things that were sentimental or just for fun— and those things turned out to be my favorites.

While I was proud of a teapot that had been most technically difficult, I love the Corningware coffee pot I created in remembrance of the one my mom always used; she passed in January from brain cancer and it was during those long months that I made the decision to attend the academy so I had something to look forward to. I made an out-of-scale “Ms. Pac Man-ware” plate from leftover clay I’d used as a base for trimming, and my favorite: a humble ceramic Christmas tree- again, like the one my mom brought out every year (I collect them now): the whole miniature community came together to help me quickly find the electrical supplies and learn how to get her lit up in time for our graduation exhibit on the last night. 

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