The Backstory

I had minored in art in college, focusing on ceramics. I loved it. But I wasn’t brave enough to make it my major. At twenty-one years old, I was practical enough to know I wanted health insurance and a 401K plan, and I wasn’t sure how ceramics would provide that. As a result, I fumbled for years in multiple attempts at “career jobs” that never satisfied me.

So when I became pregnant with our first child, I welcomed the opportunity to stay at home with him. And then, over the course of a decade and three more babies, proceeded to bury myself in that role. When I finally emerged after sending our youngest to kindergarten, I felt a calling to revist my pre-mother interests and enrolled in a pottery course at our local art center. I very quickly remembered how hard it was and how bad I was (clearly, what I’d learned in college hadn’t stuck). But I was hooked.

The physicality of ceramics - of turning mud into a useful object - was addicting. Also, the requirement to slow down and focus on the singular aspects of each stage of throwing eased my over-active mind. I immediately re-enrolled after the first semester ended. And then, itching to create when classes weren’t in session between semesters, I found myself dreaming of buying a potter’s wheel to throw on at home. As fate would have it, I found a used wheel and kiln on craigslist, borrowed a trailer, and hauled it home.

I had no idea what I was doing. I’d never fired a kiln before and was terrified I’d burn our house down. But I plodded along, making lists upon lists. 1.) Hire an electrician to wire the kiln. 2.) Drive 300 miles North to Minneapolis to buy clay and glaze. 3.) Purchase basic tools.

Very quickly, I amassed a large collection of rather mediocre pottery. And I still didn’t know what kind of pottery I wanted to make - only that I wanted to make and make and make. Giving some away, throwing even more away and turning the rest into planters (because plants make anything look good), I hated my lack of direction, focus, style. And also, my husband wondered, what was I going to do with all the future pottery?

So on a whim, I applied late to a local maker’s market and was accepted. I decided this was just the kick I needed to start taking this pottery thing seriously. I had no tent, no displays, no clue what to do. I wrote more lists. 1.) Make a business card. 2.) Build displays. 3.) Borrow a tent. 4.) Produce inventory. I was terrified. If I didn’t take myself seriously as a potter, how would others? I sweat profusely setting up the day before the market started. And then, I made my first sale - a mug to a woman named Sue. And then I made more sales. By the end of the market, I had nearly sold out. I felt like Sally Field accepting her Academy Award, crying, “you like me, you really, really like me.” It was affirming. It was encouraging. It was shocking.

Over the following months, I spent time building my website (which was harder then natural child-birth, by the way), honed my creative style, figured out social media, accounting and shipping. It was both exhilarating and exhausting. And at the center of it, there was always the love of throwing clay - to make beautiful, useful objects to be loved in your home, made by my two hands.