So, not long ago, as I was rummaging through some old stuff, I found a tiny object of origin years ago that I had forgotten existed. I turned the little glazed ceramic object in my hand, trying to sharpen the vague, fuzzy pictures in my memory of my elementary school art class. The kiln that stood stoic in a corner of its own little room, separate from our colorful classroom, the tables, one after the other scattered with messy gray piles of clay, little fingers shaping and playing. I remembered how I had rolled and rerolled the handle until I was finally satisfied with it. I laughed, remembering how I struggled to decide on glaze colors because the teacher had told us that the liquid glaze was not the color that it would appear after firing (I still agonize over details sometimes). But I mostly remembered how much I loved the act of creating, and then holding the completed creation in my hands then and now (funny, it seemed bigger then!). I love this little cup all over again, and the free, uninhibited spirit that created it. I was my audience and the only person I needed to please with my work. It's a little different now, because I often have to take into consideration what will speak to my customers, especially with commissioned work, but I have to admit I enjoy that, too.
For so many years I've pursued my love of art and creating, fortunately capturing it over and over again. And then there were some years when I just wanted to put it down and be free of it, but art and creating pursued me. Lucky for me, it continued to capture me over and over.
