"ARGH!" I fought back screaming when a hole appeared in my pot once again. Charlie laughed good-naturedly and I forced a smile through clenched teeth. "Another lopsided one," I murmured. "Just great." The assistant came to the rescue, and the look on her face was obvious. Why does this kid find it so hard to control the wheel? Is it so difficult to shape clay correctly? As she cut off the top layers of my bowl, I despaired.
This was my first time doing ceramics since last year, and I was disappointed to find out that I had already forgotten how to shape clay on the wheel. The last time I tried pottery at a different camp, the teacher did much of the work for me; I produced modest looking bowls (which were round and symmetrical) and was proud of "my" outcome. So when I was about to try ceramics again, I was excited. Little did I know that I could barely make any ceramic object on my own. Would I remember how to make a bowl? My hands shook with anticipation. After I got my first cylinder of clay, the smooth wetness enveloping my fingers made my heart bubble up and pound in my chest. I was determined to get started.
My hopes soared, and my chest pounded. I flipped the power-on switch, and the wheel started to spin. It's hard to describe what it's like to watch someone create pottery, let alone describe the feeling of making a bowl yourself… All eyes were on the teacher as her hands demonstrated the way to center, collar in, and shape the clay. Her fingers rose and fell, and the lump of clay morphed magically into a curved, rotating beauty. After she was done with her presentation, everyone rushed to their station, buzzing with excitement.
However, my hopes were dashed when my centered slab of clay quickly turned into a lumpy mess. My fingers flew over the forming bowl, trying to fix the lopsided sides which were thinning out. I tried to bring the sides up a bit more but only succeeded in giving the bowl a unique avocado shape. It wasn't too bad, I thought, but I wanted more. The teacher rushed over, her eyebrows raised as I continued to deform the clay. She stopped me right as I was right about to push the sides over. "There isn't much we can do to fix it," she said, looking at the wavy shape. "But, hey! Don't be too hard on yourself! This is your first try. It's kind of cool, you know? It looks like a monster's mouth. You can put some eyeballs right there, and there…" She gave me a half-smile. Great. The teacher even said that the bowl looks like a monster.
As I looked at all of the sleek bowls spinning on each person's wheel, there was only one feeling that was rushing through my boiling blood: jealousy. After I stacked my lopsided collection of oddities on top of my wheel, I tried not to think about how beautiful everyone else's pots looked. What was I doing so obviously wrong? For the rest of the day, I continued to fail: putting too much slip on the underglaze, messing up the designs, punching holes in the bottom of the bowl… It was endless.
The next day, I came back exhausted and weary. My eyes sagged, and I wanted to lay my head down on the wheel and fall asleep. Trying not to fall over, I trimmed the pots and sluggishly slapped a piece of wet clay on the pots whenever the bottom caved in. The same helper came over to me about every two minutes, forcing a laugh whenever I did something wrong. Her eyes squinted, and I could tell that she was getting frustrated. I felt so idiotic.
Finally, once I got my uncontrollable hands off the wheel, I started to decorate. Almost everyone at the table was engaged in some silly conversation: laughing, joking around, and just having a good time. I just watched them with puffy eyes. At last, I got around to actually putting some marks on the clay. The teacher taught us how to engrave intricate designs onto our pots, and I started unleashing some creativity. I bent the deformed avocado into a heart shape, and cut oval shapes on my mug. Delighted by the outcome, I also put a smiley face on each of my two ice cream bowls. Now, this was what I called fun! My perfectionist side of me took over, and deep in my work, I bent over the pots and started to scrape away.
In the end, my lopsided creations took on a funky, playful look, which I would soon paint with colorful designs. I was oddly happy that my pots and bowls took on abnormal shapes, which demonstrated creativity. You could tell it apart from everyone else's! I carved words into the sides with my neatest handwriting-- "double up peace sign!" and "ice cream" were some of them (inside joke). My vase resembled a Halloween pumpkin, and I donned it the name-- "Poppy", because I imagined that I would paint it bright orange later on. Satisfied with my work, I took a deep breath and looked at it from afar. It actually wasn't half-bad!
At the end of the day, I learned that not all mistakes are doomed to the trash can, and some may even be transformed into something more unique.