CeraAHH!mics Update

Photo Credit: www.urbanoutfitters.com

Things in the land of pottery making have taken a turn for the worst. Right now my pact with Abby is the only thing keeping me in class. My bucket list clearly states "Take a pottery class." A, as in one, not a semester's worth. I believe I have fulfilled the requirements, thank you very much.

Last week I learned how to glaze. Again I was fooled by the seemingly easy, piece-of-cake demonstration that the teacher put on: Take pottery, dip into glaze, let dry, done.

Pffft! Easy? I think not!

You have to use industrial sized mixing equipment to stir the glaze up. By "you" I mean me, the student, has to mix it up. Why, I ask, do we have a teacher's aid? I'm just saying. For one thing, the mixing spoon thing is as tall as me. For another, I sort of, possibly, might have overpowered an innocent water bucket with it, causing a huge sound explosion while the teacher was giving a presentation. Maybe.

I also might have given up after I glazed my hand instead of a "mug" and decided to paint the glaze on. I'm sure that's illegal, but don't tell. It will be our little secret.

Glazing: It's hella hard, y'all. Hella hard. Poor Mustache Man. I have no idea what the final product will look like, but I'm scared for him.

This week things got even more awful. I had made one really, truly beautiful vase. Even the teacher was in awe of it, and that doesn't happen much. But, when I went into class on Thursday, I discovered that it had broken. My little pottery making heart is filled with sadness. On top of that, I messed up my wrist. For the third time. Which, by the way, I feel pretty stupid about, considering how I just said how strong it had gotten. Sheesh. In my defense, I didn't see this one coming. I would like to say that I got in a Ninja fight, but actually, I was attacked by a hoe. And by "attacked" I mean that I tried to do yard work and it backfired on me. And by "backfired" I mean that I may have gotten a little crazy with the hoe and things may have gotten out of hand and my hand may have gotten in the way. Maybe.

 Hoes: Can't live with them, can't live without them.

Anyway...obviously to make pottery you need hands and wrists and strength to put behind them. I can't even brush my hair like a normal person or pump soap from a dispenser right now, let alone knead that darn clay seventeen thousand and one times. I can type and hold things and even still do some yoga poses, but when I try and put pressure on it and simultaneously turn it- pain. Just pain. The good ole' essential oils aren't working this time either, which tells me the hoe won this fight.

I attempted one-handed kneading, which took me an hour and resulted in a square shaped thingamajig. I tried to center the square and make it into a bowl, however, the clay came flying off the wheel and almost hit my friends in the face. Guess that won't work. At some point I loudly let out the sound of a wounded animal without even realizing it, causing stares and laughter aimed in my direction. At least I'm entertaining everyone.

So...since I was officially a project behind with the broken vase, and since I now have to make four bowls, I may or may not have bribed my teacher into kneading, centering, and starting the bowl for me, with the promise of me baking that chocolate chip brownie dessert and bringing it to class next week. He may or may not have taken pity on me and actually agreed to that. I can neither confirm nor deny any of this.

Three bowls to go. I really need to start thinking about who else I can bribe with food. That, or I need to hire an assistant just to pass class. It's going to be a long semester.

On top of all of this, I recently decided to be a brunette again, which has nothing to do with pottery except for the fact that all of these tragic things happened in the same day. By "tragic" I mean the highlights the salon put in really didn't want to leave the first time I dyed my hair, which resulted in me somewhat resembling an oompa loompa, orangish wise. By "orangish" I mean it may have looked like my head was on fire, a little bit. The second bottle of dye did the trick, mostly. I am now a brownish-redish on top, and brownish-blackish on bottom, brunette. I could probably get into a motorcycle gang pretty easily. I'm going to pretend like I planned that.

I'm glad this week is over.

Anyone interested in going to school with me to do all of my work and not actually get a grade for it? Anyone? Bueller? 

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