It started in the summer of 1997...
I was a technical writer, a wife, and a mom of two little ones. My youngest was just a baby, and we were on vacation. The resort had an “open wheel” craft activity, and I went, even though I’d never touched clay in my life, let alone a potter’s wheel. The instructor was kind enough to get me centered (so I could be mildly successful) and that one hour with clay was all it took. I was hooked. Obsessed. I literally had dreams at night for weeks about how the clay felt, the movement, the texture... It was a love affair (obsession?) that has in turn found me distracted, left me elated, and kept me up late at night to throw “just one more pot.”
Years later, I’m still wife to an amazingly patient and supportive guy, and now a mom of four amazing kids, and I still work part time as a technical writer (though now it’s to fund my obsession). I find that the clay, and the process that brings a work of art from earth, water and fire, speaks to every part of my life. And I remain convinced that it was an act of God that made sure that I would have no contact whatsoever with clay until I had graduated from college, gotten a job that would pay a decent wage, gotten married and had kids... Because if I had found this particular obsession first, I’m afraid would have forgotten to do anything else.
