Summer Sundays are sacred days to me. Sundays are a day that I cherish, leaving this day free from plans and obligations. One of my favorite things to do on a Sunday is visit my local market. In Ottawa, I loved visiting the local market and taking in the vibrant energy of artists; their sense of pride seemed to illuminate their stalls. Every weekend I found myself lingering at the pottery stand; I loved the shapes of the bowls and the mugs; each piece displayed movement within its form, and every piece was unique, finished off with different colors and patterns. My husband, Kevin, bought two passes for a pottery class to try together for my twenty-fifth birthday. I was so excited to try this craft firsthand. I had seen many movies and tv shows showcasing someone sitting with their legs straddled around a fast-spinning wheel as they gracefully carved a perfect bowl shape out of the clay with their hands. It looked easy enough! Excitedly, I marked the date on our calendar as I began to dream up all the beautiful creations I would make. The pottery workshop day arrived, and Kevin and I began the class with an eagerness and curiosity to learn the process of this elegant craft. To my surprise, the class was much more complex and challenging than I imagined! After some basic instructions and planning, the instructor allowed us to sit at the wheel and try to mold our piece of clay. The clay was wet, and the wheel spun faster than I had imagined. With intense focus, I tried my best to manipulate the clay into a small round bowl gently. I became frustrated as the clay became thin and broke off quickly. I turned to look at the other women, who seemed to be moving flawlessly with their clay. As the class continued, I worked with gentle intention and watched as a bowl began to take shape! The instructor asked us to pick a color and a glaze and return to pick our creations up in a few days, allowing them time to bake and dry. I left the class with pride after completing my first pottery piece successfully! I also felt humbled by pottery as a craft and a sense of admiration towards the pottery artisans I had encountered at my local Sunday market.
