I was pondering about what it is about clay that I love?
I've had a garden that was made up mostly of clay and it was a nightmare - if I watered it too much there was a bog, if I didn't water it enough there was a dried out rock bed. Some plants survived, but it was hit and miss.
So now that I really love clay I'm wondering what's changed?
Nowadays when I put my hands in clay it's meditative. Somehow it's a grounding medium, and the fact that I can turn a lump of clay into something functional or decorative, is so satisfying.
Clay has a memory, so it will usually try and go back to its original form, but more often than not I can coerce it into a shape that I like.
Clay feels familiar to me these days, it's tactile and very responsive to touch, and when I get the touch right, clay becomes a force to be reckoned with.
When I wedge a lump of clay into a medium that I can throw on the potters wheel, or hand build with, I respect it.
Of course, that lump of clay doesn't always play nicely with me and we end up with a bucket full of reclaim, still the time I spent with my hands in that lump was therapeutic.
And when we've both cooled down a little, I'll re-wedge that reclaim and start over.
Teresa x