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| From the Editor
I bet if you thought about it for a little while, it wouldn’t be too difficult to pinpoint the moment you fell in love with clay. Some of you know right off the top of your head, like it was yesterday. For some of you, it may, in fact, have been yesterday. But some of you need to think back through the twists and turns you have taken with clay—or that clay has presented to you—to that single moment.
Perhaps you were mesmerized by a throwing demonstration or maybe someone handed you a lump of clay and you never got over the way it responded to your hand. These experiences can be intense, and one reason is that clay can provide incredibly direct access to the creative process. When it happens, possibilities that were not available to you before that moment suddenly present themselves. Answers to your questions seem less distant. Creative fulfillment is within your grasp. Fame and riches are just moments away!
And then you try it for yourself. And then it doesn’t work. The clay won’t center; the bottom is too thick; the kiln won’t reach temperature; the glaze runs or pops or pinholes; something cracks—or explodes! All that effort, all that energy, all that time, all that work, and for what? For the information and experience you didn’t have before, that’s what.
Now, I’ve been accused of being a bit too optimistic from time to time, typically when I make statements like that last one, or when I dwell too long on all the many wonders of clay, but usually the accusation comes from someone who has never seen me after I’ve over fired a month’s worth of work or added the wrong raw material to a 10,000 gram batch of glaze. But even when things go badly—and perhaps especially when things go badly—there is valuable information and knowledge to be gained. I don’t usually realize this at the time, but there is usually some very important kernel of truth I end up keeping from the experience. I use these to mark my clay path. They are the turning points; bends in the road that set me off in a new direction.
For each of us, the key and the struggle is finding our own path through these experiences. For some, the clay path may simply circle around their basement studio, exploring and learning and satisfying a creative drive. For others, it may reach out across borders of all sorts and meander through workshops, residencies, academia and any number of associated endeavors.
Regardless of the path you follow with clay, chances are good that it does not have a “straight and narrow” trajectory. A good deal of us likely took a ceramics class by accident, or for “easy” credit, and just never quite got back to our original plan. The articles we’re presenting in this issue explore several individuals’ reflections on the path they have chosen (or found themselves on). Seth Payne's work deals with portability and mobility; issues he deals with as his clay path leads him from place to place. Meg Oliver discusses her decision to start a studio business. And if you’re looking for a bend in the road, check out the opportunities in our 2008 Residencies and Fellowships listing.
Happy travels!
Sherman Hall
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