In June, I spent most of my time at the pottery studio, where I enrolled in an advanced course. Hence, there was a lack of passages sent for the month's care letters; Earlier this year, I took an oath as a nurse and also made a vow to myself not to limit my potential or my sense of belonging.
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath
I can’t say I’m a good potter just yet, but I know about the craft. I’ve experienced it, I took hold of the clay.
Truth be told, I was unsure if I should enroll in this course. I feel like time is slipping through my fingers already, and I have responsibilities to fulfill. I think of it more, and the more I think about it, the more I understand that being ready is not a feeling; to face the two: things I have to do and the things I love to do—it’s a decision.
One decision led me to spend four Sundays with twelve amazing women and more along the way. As said by She, a mom and potter turned friend, at the night of our exhibit, she wasn't expecting to form friendships throughout. I share the same sentiments, and I believe most of us do too. It's not about the lost wanting to be found, but rather about the found discovering that the unexpected can turn out to be something truly worth having. On our first Sunday at Laro, I met Dane, Delsa, Gabby, Iris, Jordan, Kiana, She, and the rest of Laro’s team: Elle, Ju, and Nini who work alongside Erika, the founder of Laro, as well as Bri, who I first met at the first class I took there with my best friend.
Erika taught us everything from clay preparation to decoration and glazing. As much as I'd like to share everything she taught us, if you're interested in pottery or ceramics, it’s best for you to experience it yourself. I don't want to spoil something that could be life-changing or brain chemistry-altering (as I would describe in the language of the internet).
But I will share this: as a student, admittedly there have been many times I wanted to raise my hand to ask questions and clarify my learning. In the studio, I couldn’t count the times I did so, as it seemed there were no dumb questions asked; I gleaned valuable insights, not only from my own but also from listening to the questions and observing my fellow students in the advanced course. On shared silences and shared experiences, every moment I’ve spent at Laro has filled my heart with warmth and knowledge learned far more than what I paid for. Nothing comes close to the sense of community I was exposed to there—a safe place. Indeed, Erika succeeded in creating what she envisioned, and I couldn’t be prouder to let people know that we were guided by an instructor whose love and passion shine the brightest whenever she teaches us or works on the wheel herself. Her dedication to pottery and teaching stems from a place of care and tenderness—Clay showed me it is a reflection of the holder.
It was a Sunday and I was at a pottery studio and here I learned to let go as I take shape of my life. Gathered for the exhibit at 7 in the evening, I was greeted by cocktails and food served by familiar unfamiliar faces surrounded by the figs that make even more figs favored by the odds on perpetual luck and ever-present love.
I left with my hands clean without any remains of clay, but ever so slightly it feels like it does. It lingers, and I am letting it.
“The world’s always going to need surgeons, but it’s going to need bowls too.”
Happy Place, Emily Henry
Miron Białoszewski’s Green: Therefore It Is
Kay Mullen’s Bonsai at the Potter’s Stall
James Baldwin’s talks on Love and Artists
Jerry Zucker’s Ghost (1990)
Missingvibrance’s To be loved is to be changed via Tumblr
To Andrea, Chai, my best friend, the first person I threw on the wheel with, the person who has always been supportive and witnessed my growth for 11 years, thank you for always believing in me, you may have missed my first shared exhibit, but I want you to be reminded that I won’t get to experience any of this without your constant belief in me. To Erika, congratulations and thank you for showing everyone kindness and sharing your knowledge without restraints, especially for making this exhibit possible. I will always be rooting for you. To my fellow students (Dane, Delsa, Gabby, Iris, Jordan, Kiana, and She) at Laro’s first summer advanced course, I’m glad I shared this class with you all. It is your creativity, perseverance, and presence that made me look forward to weekends and practice times at the studio. To Ju, Elle, Bri, and Nini, your warm welcome and help with the clay mean a lot. To Rye, Erin, and Bianca, Sundays are thin, yet you made up space for me to take. Thank you for showing up and for making me feel the love that tends.
Some photos from the exhibit, photographed by Elle and Pau © Laro Ceramics