Time (or lack thereof)
We are living in such fast-paced times; we all know that feeling of not having enough time. It’s funny how assertive we humans feel over the passage of time— here’s how I’m going to structure my day, my year, my life… as if we’re in charge. Which of course we are not, actually, but for the purposes of this post let’s just agree that we do possess some semblance of authority over the choices we make with what we do with our seconds, minutes, and hours while we’re on this earth as semi-free agents.
Something about working with clay is that once you take the first steps of creating a piece, the clock starts. The second that sweet air hits the raw clay, it begins to dry out- so it needs care, tending, and maintenance to carry it along it’s way. For someone with a full, busy life, this means having many semi-dry pieces at all times, lots of interactions with old plastic and wet sponges, and a whole list of things that I WANT to make but refuse to start making until I know that I can actually give them the time and attention that they need.
So this can be a real barrier for me as I juggle my time between maintaining my therapy practice, running a home (a kitchen and a laundry area, really), trying not to fuck up my kids, caring for pets, and trying to attend to my relationships in ways that only a tortured-introverted-brooding-artist type can. I easily end up just not starting the thing, and developing a whole story in my head about how I can’t get time away, how my time isn’t my own, and if I could only do the things I loved rather than the things I HAD to do, life would be more fair, fun, and free.
Okay, so here’s the mic-drop/lesson/thesis. IT DOESN’T MATTER if I make the thing, or if I don’t, if the clay dries out or stays fresh, if I have time for one piece or ten pieces or zero pieces. Just that it is there, always waiting, ready to be opened up or stayed static or dried out completely, is enough to keep the fire lit. Just imagining the making — which, if you know clay, is often more satisfying than actual making, given that clay can be a tempestuous, finicky medium — can be enough, and it has to be, for now, for this season of my life.
