pinch pot: roll clay in ball. stick in thumb. pinch sides between thumb and fingers. make pot.
That's the basic idea, anyway. And the assignment this week for my clay class: make seven pinch pots. Show up in the art studio every day. Show up. SHOW UP!
Those are my italics, my bold, my all-caps. Just, you know, working on some issues around the whole showing up thing...
So I'm sitting on the porch behind the art studio, gorgeous day, with my ball of clay. And I know you are going to be completely shocked by this, but the first pinch pot I made wasn't very good.*
Anyway, I got all icky and judgmental about it.
It was good though -- to be able to observe how icky and judgmental I felt. I mean, I've never made a pinch pot before, not that I remember. So legally, technically, it is unreasonable to expect that I'll make a fabulous pinch pot. There have been people making pinch pots for decades -- or even, say, for a week or so -- who might wonder why I think my pinch pot should be so fabulous after only making, um, one.
Anyway, it was good to watch those feelings come up, good to say, "oh, hello, you" and then good to go an lay in a hammock with a small ball of clay and stick pieces of it on my thumb and pinch a few more pots. It was helpful, because when I sit down to do something it's reasonable to expect I'm pretty good at (say, writing), those same feelings come up. Nice to know how unspecific these ugly thoughts are -- how context is almost nothing to the scared kiddo who wants to make art and yet doesn't want to make art, unless she can be certain ahead of time that it will be um, perfect.
Maybe not perfect, but at least pretty good. At least not horribly embarrassing.
And before, when I said I'm "pretty good at (say, writing)," I hope you don't think, I was, you know, bragging.
*I actually am not qualified to say what is and is not a good pinch pot. I may be a pinch pot prodigy. I'll let you know.