The most important lesson I learned this year was from my ceramics teacher
I made a “to-do” list for before I turned 30, one of them was to learn ceramics. How vague: LEARN. CERAMICS. What does that even mean? I purposely left it undefined so that any attempt, regardless of how feeble or blatantly lacking in functionality, would easily fall into the category: LEARN.
My teacher changed my life. Not because she was an expert or patient or had an amazing atelier. My teacher changed by life because on week 4 of classes (after making a few wonky trays and a hibiscus vase that alluded to the same female body parts as Georgia O’Keeffe except not on purpose) I turned to her and said, “Deryn, I want to make a tea pot.” Without batting an eye, she said OK, walked over to her library, focused for a few minutes, pulled a shadowy edition in Japanese and said matter-of-factly, “this will help.” As if I were making a simple bowl, we set off on the tea-pot mission like it was the most normal thing a ceramics noob would tackle.
On day one we got far, by some fluke I was the only student that session. I could see the tea pot in my mind, and much to my surprise, my hands (with the help of my osho) started molding clay into something that very much resembled said, mythical tea pot.
A week later I went back to class, this time I wasn’t the only student. I pulled out my tea pot’s body, and in a most authentic eager-toddler like fashion, proceeded to declare my successes and plans emphatically to the rest of the students (many of whom were semi-professional potters). They all laughed, how sweet! A TEA pot? Really? … Do you have any idea how hard that’s going to be?
As quickly as my inner child inflated with pride from my new creation and newly found ceramicist ambition, it deflated with the prospect of a huge massive looming stinky turd of a failure.
My osho didn’t bat an eye, she didn’t engage with the other students. She calmly pulled the Japanese book off the shelf again, turned to the right page, and set off on helping me think about a spout.
It’s been a couple of weeks of diligent work on the tea pot. Yesterday it went into the fire for the last time. Glazed to perfection like a delicious donut. Its not done yet but its perfect. It’s perfect because the teacher never questioned the student, never tempered her expectations, never said it was impossible or hard or predicted insurmountable failure. She didn’t have to, I already knew these things. My osho simply agreed to my goal and started at it with me, bringing the tiny little faded vision in my right brain to life.
In 7 days I turn 30 and who’s to judge if I “learned ceramics.” But I did learn about dreams, and what it takes to make them come true: a childlike belief in possibilities infinite and a teacher who knows that strength comes from dreaming big, no matter what.
