Pottery, Pistols, and Persistence: A Story of My Dream Hobby

This article is in response to a Crows’ Feet prompt from Robin James about hobbies.

My high school hobby: Pottery

Daniel Mason (I’m not using real names), the high school phys-ed teacher and track coach burst into our pottery class screaming “Where’s Kevin? Where’s that low-life cheatin’ bastard?”

We all froze like hunched statues, pottery wheels spinning soundlessly. Kevin Dalton was our pottery teacher, a gangly man with a wry sense of humor. The door to Kevin’s office was open and we could see him, his eyes as big as platters.

Daniel pulled a gun out of his belt, walked up to Kevin’s office door and shouted “This is for sleeping with my wife!” and pulled the trigger. The concussion was deafening. Kevin let out a loud grunt and fell from his chair to the floor, empty eyes starting directly at us. Daniel casually strutted out of the room, gun smoking, wearing an evil grin of satisfaction.

Shocked, the entire class sat immobile watching Kevin for any sign of life. He started jerking and twitching on the floor.

He began to giggle, his body shaking and convulsing so hard he couldn’t contain himself. He broke out in laughter, hooting and wheezing with such effort that he could barely crawl up onto his hands and knees.

Using his chair, he pulled himself up to a standing position, composed himself, and proudly said “April Fools!”

Seedlings

The gun was a starter pistol with blanks of course, and a joke so extreme that it burned into my mind forever. If they pulled a prank like that today, they’d lose their jobs and might even end up in prison.

But that was in the ’70s, in high school, in an era of rebellion and nonconformity.

Krazy Kevin and his antics gave us implicit permission to explore the extremes of our art without judgment, without constraint. As a result, my pottery hobby became an obsession.

I looked forward to that class every day and as the school year progressed I developed quite a knack at spinning pots and carving sculptures. So much so that I seriously considered a career in ceramics.

I went to college and took every ceramics and art class I could find. I considered declaring as an Art Major so I could keep the wheels spinning for the rest of my life. The art of ceramics was an outlet like no other, and a life of creativity was wildly tempting.

Even though I was no longer in touch with Kevin, I was sure he’s approve.

Ultimately though, I recognized that making a living at pottery wouldn’t be all fun and games and it might require a great deal more austerity than I wanted.

That was the moment I decided to hit pause on my hobby. A business degree, I decided, would serve me better.

Throughout my life I continued to look back at the freedom and fun I experienced when sitting at the potter’s wheel in Kevin’s class. “Soon,” I told myself, “Soon I’ll get back into it.” But one thing led to another and the hobby that captivated me in that high school classroom never became a reality again.

Retirement

My retirement party invitations clearly stated “no gifts,” but people brought me wine, books, and bourbon anyway. My daughters handed me an envelope with a card inside.

“Thank you,” I said to them as I tore open the envelope, eager to read the card and then get started on the bourbon. The card was cute I’m sure — I honestly don’t remember it — but more importantly it contained a folded piece of paper inside that said:

“Eight 2-hour sessions in a pottery studio, all supplies and materials included.”

I was overwhelmed, excited, and terrified at the prospect. I immediately thought of the good old times in that high school classroom I’d left behind so many years ago.

It had been more than forty years since I’d coaxed a lump of clay into a circle and I had no idea if I could even remember how to do it again. This gift wasn’t a training class, it was just access to a studio, and my success relied heavily on the assumption that I’d be able to jump right back in again with no help.

Revisiting my hobby

My first few tries looked like Salvador Dali’s clocks, but I got better quickly and was surprised at how well muscle memory returned after such a long break.

I remembered Kevin and I fell in love with art again.

I made flower pots, vases, cups and plates, and glazed them with all the colors of the rainbow. Nothing turned out good enough that anyone would treasure, but the smells and sounds brought back vivid memories that had lay dormant for decades.

The simple act of touching clay and creating art pulled me back to a happy place in my childhood — a place of freedom, fun, creativity, and practical jokes.

How do I fit a new hobby into my life?

It’s an hour’s drive to the nearest studio. To have enough time to travel and work, it would take half a day. That’s like playing a round of golf — people do that all the time.

I’d have to go at least three days a week to accommodate drying times, trimming, glazing, and kiln schedules. Three rounds of golf a week? Some people do that.

I’m already busy. What will I give up?

I write articles, short stories, and novels almost every day for several hours. I can’t give that up.

Hiking, biking, skiing? Those are essential for my health.

Homeowner projects, cooking, walking, exploring, theater, and TV are special events that my wife and I love to do together.

I have to socialize. Friends are important.

Travel is important.

Family always comes first and I have parents, in-laws, kids, and animals that need attention.

Can I read fewer books? Nope.

Persistence and pottery

A true potter dedicates a significant slice of his or her life to the art. Like writing, it’s not a casual undertaking. Nobody says “I’ll be right back, I’m going to run out to the garage for a few minutes and create a magnificent heirloom. ”

The art of pottery deserves more attention than I can give it right now, but I promise you (and me) it will be a major part of my future one day soon.

Whenever I dream about getting back into pottery and it makes me sad, I remember that April Fools joke that Dan and Kevin played on us in Junior high. As creepy as it was, I miss it with all my heart.

Maybe ‘memories’ should be a hobby. I can squeeze a lot of those.

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