beginnings - lockdown

I wrote this in 2020, during the ‘easing’ of that first lockdown, for a local coach called Kelly Drake, who was launching her ‘do what makes you happy’ programme. It’s mostly about pottery, but I think it serves well enough to explain a bit about me and how i got here….

I found pottery when I was pretty low. I’d had 3 children and spent 2 years out of ‘work’, which doesn’t sound like much, but when trying to practise any skills beyond the work of nappies and nap times, felt an eternity.

I had taken each parental leave, the pay gap between us had dictated it so, but I probably would have done it anyway - I loved being at home with the babies. By the time they weren’t babies any more, the pay gap was so huge that returning to work seemed financially pointless. Besides, Jamie loved his job and I had yet to find my ‘thing.’ I’d originally trained as a dancer and singer but after abandoning it as a career, I couldn’t find the love for any subsequent jobs (there were many) and so they didn’t last long. I searched for it in hobbies and crafts instead - sewing, knitting, picture framing and even taxidermy (to name just a few) but they didn’t stick, because they didn’t ‘click.’ 

So here I was, a ‘non starter’ in my early 30s, self esteem gutter-low: floating between singalongs, school pick ups and sleepless nights, watching crap telly and carrying with me society’s (mostly negative and grossly unjust) opinions on what a stay at home mum is. Then I met a friend of a friend, Emily, who is now my very good friend and pottery shop co-owner. I’d long admired her beautiful little speckled stoneware cups and she kindly dropped me over a bag of clay to ‘play'. My interest was piqued. So I signed up to an evening pottery class to break my routine and get out of the house. And I loved it.

There’s something very romantic about working with clay. It’s literally from the earth, it’s natural. Unfired, it’s totally recyclable and so gives endless opportunities to experiment and try again. You have to be mindful and in the moment when working with it, especially on the wheel where you’re in constant motion. It’s messy. It’s tactile. And you have practice patience - its a long process from a wet ball of clay to a functional pot - throw, dry, trim, dry, fire, sand, glaze, dry, fire, sand - things can (and often do) go wrong at each step so you have to get over it - learn, ponder, wonder and move on. And there’s also so much to learn - for example, glazing is an entire science in itself, a process where chemistry and art meet.

It’s taken a long time to get to a point where I feel confident selling my work (mega imposter syndrome, I am still a total novice in the world of ceramics). It took a while to find my style (or my creative voice, as some would say), but also the belief that my work was worthy of a price tag when the joy I felt in making was all I initially wanted from it. Having said that, earning my own money and having a tiny slice of financial independence is really exciting after all these years and has boosted my confidence enormously. So in late 2019, I arranged 3 short days of childcare, bought a wheel and registered as a business and everything felt so good.

Then covid. What a shit year for everyone. I don’t want to moan and complain about the toughness of lockdown : we are very very lucky - garden, house, job security and healthy. But in the interest of protecting the salary, I was plunged back into the role of primary caregiver; the additional meals, and ‘homeschooling’ fell to me despite the fact that there was an extra adult in the house. A fairly frustrating relationship dynamic to have to deal with in the middle of a pandemic. Not to mention the utter rage I felt knowing that this was disproportionately affecting women, potentially setting us back years, but I digress. Obviously it meant losing my hours in the pottery which had become my solace and safe happy space. I tried to exercise it elsewhere by starting a cutting garden ( I’m also a florist) but after a tray of seeds got tipped over, I had a pretty melodramatic middle class breakdown and shut myself in the bathroom crying that the seeds were a metaphor for my life (I am laughing as I write this). As ridiculous as the episode was, it made us realise that I needed some time and space to create, for the sake of my mental health. So Jamie cleared a few hours each afternoon for me to disappear to the loft (now a studio/office we share).

Thankfully, the kids are now back at school, activities have resumed so there’s more time in this ‘new normal’. Actually, more time than I’ve ever had now that the youngest is in nursery. Jamie is still at home so we’re in the loft together (which isn’t ideal for pottery). It can be annoying to overhear work calls when I want to listen to Radio 6 but it’s working for now and so much better than it was. I’m working through some orders for shops and am hoping to open my own online store in time for Christmas. I’m saving up for a kiln, and maybe even to build a little studio in the garden. I really want to get into a rhythm, into big making cycles.

Since that period almost 3 years ago, I haven’t had a prolonged period of “low mood” (depression). I think pottery, practicing it, makes me feel more like me. Which is a terribly cliched thing to write, and a trite thing to say. But I can’t really think of another way to put it.