Pottery, the early years.
If you read my “about me”, you know that found my passion for pottery by molding a model of the pentagon in my cosmetology class.
Amazingly, it took me a very long time to connect my passion for creating with the career of making pottery. At first I thought my calling was being a sculptor. So I went to an art school and signed up for a 7 semester program in sculpting! My friends all backed me up on this new found passion of mine, they said it was a lot better of a choice then Cosmetology.
At the time, I was skeptical. Cosmetology was all i knew, and i was uncertain if i could bring out this creative demon inside me that I had only unleashed once in the past.
Regardless, I knew I had to try. Long Story short, art school sucked. Cramped between tree hugging hippies and arrogant over talented snobs I always felt like a stranger in the classroom.
got this photo from: www.themetropolist.com…
Even worse, All I knew was makeup, and these guys had vision, they new what they wanted, where they were going and what they were working with.
I was just following a hunch, that I might be the Leonardo DaVinci of sculpting. I was not. Sculpting is hard, and to this very day I absolutely hate it. For the first few weeks I was always cutting away too much of my pieces or cracking them, while everyone around me discussed which style of this and which look and texture they wanted and the best way to achieve the desired effect and whatnot. It was not long before my teacher had given up on me. She ended up just pretending like I wasn’t even there… which didn’t bother me much.
I had given up on myself too. My end of year project looked like a sandcastle made from a single mold by a toddler that had collapsed in on itself. My parents were funding my career at the time, but didn’t know of my failure. I told them a lie about my fictional girlfriend in my class who I broke up with for some heartbreaking reason and that I couldn’t stand seeing her in pain everyday so I, in my infinite generosity and selflessness left the program so she could continue and pursue her career.
My dad said something like “What?! don’t let no woman stand in the way of your future!
Sometimes you gotta be selfish! Look what happened to me when I put my life on hold for your mother? Im 54 and I haven’t in my life left Arkansas state borders!” to which my mom responded by hurtling a sandal at his face and telling me that I did a noble thing and she is proud that her son is such a gentleman.
Well that was that. My dream of making the passion I thought I had a career went down the drain, along with all my disfigured sculptures, which my father did not appreciate removing from the toilet when they eventually flooded the whole house. Luckily for me, my sculptures sucked so bad that he didn’t really see them as art but as some very strange fungus.
Got off the hook there. It was summertime and my dad forced me to get out of my room and away from my tv and computer and do some work. So I went around the neighborhood mowing lawns in the blazing heat, hating every minute of it. It was during this time that I finally found the missing link to my creativity!