Wheel Throwing

I wrote this for Not Made in China Pottery Studio

If you’ve seen the movie Ghost, you know what wheel throwing is. “Throwing” is the term potters use for building clay vessels on the wheel. There are several steps to throwing. The first step is called centering. In centering, you slam a ball of clay onto the wheel with enough force to make it stick. Using a sponge, add just enough water to make it slippery. Use your left leg as force behind your arm and wrap your hand around the clay to push it up. Your other hand should be behind but not pressing hard. To push the clay back down, have your arm against your stomach and push away from your body. Do this several times until the clay doesn’t move when you place your hands on it.

After the clay has been centered, you’re ready to open up your piece. Place your hands on either side and dip your thumbs in to create a well. Press down close to the bottom of the piece. Using a needle tool, measure to make sure the bottom is about three-quarters of an inch thick. Use a tool to flatten out the bottom. Now you are ready to begin building the walls.

To build the walls, hold one finger on the inside of the vessel and the other on the outside. Use your thumb on the outside wall to make a groove. Bring your fingers up to the top of the vessel and let go gently. After your walls are at the desired thickness and height, you’re ready to shape the vessel.

To shape the vessel walls, hold the tool at up to a 45-degree angle. Turn it until the walls are at a desired shape. Now you are ready to remove the vessel.
To remove a finished piece, use a wire tool to slide beneath it. Wet the wheel with water to create a slippery surface. Reach your hands behind the piece and gently push it off the wheel onto a bat or other flat surface.

Next time: Hand Building

Sadly, Resignation

"I'm not a leader /
I'm not a left-wing rhetoric-mobilizing force of one.
But there was a time way back many years ago in college
Don't laugh, but I thought I was a radical...

I am sad to say that I am no longer a liberal and no longer a feminist. At the same time I am relieved. There will be no more arguments in my head. No more echoing of my grandmother's voice, quoting Winston Churchill: "If you're young and you're not liberal, you don't have a heart. If you're old and you're not conservative, you don't have a brain."

I am not conservative either. I am just sadly resigned. Feminism is something to get excited about in college. It is great fun. It does not stop rape, femicide, domestic violence.

There is still war, poverty, racism, and other injustice and always will be despite what liberals and radicals argue about. That doesn't mean one shouldn't care about these things. There just isn't a point. It makes me sad, but less exhaused too.

Disappointed.

If only it weren't true, but it is.

The world is not kind.

I am a 31-year-old single woman without much income. I live far away from my family. I am depressed and tired.

Politics sell books, magazines, bumper stickers, T-shirts. They don't change anything.

Congratulations, Republican relatives.

You win.

I give up.

Martyr

Inspired by my friend C's autobiographical erotic poetry about power exchange:

I'll write a poem "Martyr" about my grandmother's next-door neighbor, who stayed with her abusive husband, raised 2 sons. How my mother objected to her not being allowed to go to church, not to the abuse.

With Apologies

The writing in this blog has been not up to what I am capable of.

Self Portrait

I'm working on my self-portrait. It's an assignment for my drawing class. The medium is charcoal. Powder charcoal, charcoal pencil, vine charcoal, compressed charcoal.

It's weird that my other drawing teachers didn't show us all the different types of charcoal. I found out about charcoal pencils on my own. I saw them at Barnes & Noble on New Years Eve and bought a set. I could've got them cheaper at Michaels but I didn't know anything about art supplies back then.

So I'm working on my self-portrait. It doesn't look like me, everyone says. It's too dramatic, too angry. Maybe it's how you want to look, my friend says.

It FEELS like me.

That should count for something.

My drawing teacher will say it would be a good painting.

She said my eyes were following her around the room from the paper while I was working on it in class. Black pupils. Charcoal is black.

scope

Scope lived in the apartment below mine. He had a long-haired calico cat just like I did. He had a virgen de guadalupe tattoo on his left forearm. He wore horn-rimmed glasses. He owned two pairs that I saw. One pair was brown tortoise shell. The other pair was black with a silver skull and cross-bones in the middle.

Cross-bones style, Cat power

o come, child, in a cross-bones style, cuz u have seen some unbelievable things.

Scope turned me on to social distortion. He said I'd also like NOFX because they were melodic.

The last time I saw him before he got kicked out, he was hanging out with a younger guy with short blond hair. His name was Steve. Steve said he used to only listen to gangsta rap but Scope turned him on to punk rock.

goodbye, mom

My mom calls every Sunday. WE have the same conversation.

This time when she calls I will not answer. I will not answer when she calls back on Monday. On Tuesday I will tell my psychiatrist of my decision. He and my therapist will be my only support until I meet new friends,

I am 30 years old. I have not spent a single day not thinking about my mom.
When my dad got custody of us after the divorce, my grandmother told me that when we weren't there anymore mom would just lay on the bed and cry. I was 8 years old. My younger brother was 4.

I am taking a college-level art class. I know I have a lot of talent and my own vision by the comments I get from my teacher. She says I have my own unique drawing style. She can recognize my drawings by just looking at them without seeing my name.

I'm at work, so I won't write any more.

I am not going to talk to mom.

I am going to cut her off.

Just to prove I can.

I will not talk to her tomorrow evening.

I will see how it goes when she doesn't hear from me.

If she really loves me, she will understand.

She will not think it's fair.

I will tell my therapist about this.

I know I said I wouldn't write any more before. Now I really will stop.