When I was a kid my mother had many hobbies, always with a creative/artistic bent. She painted signs. She painted murals for the local museum. She sewed. She quilted. And one thing she shared with me was ceramics. She had a ton of slip cast molds – clowns, cats, flowers, vases, “TV lamps,” dogs, bookends, you-name-it – and she often let me clean and paint these objects. I was fascinated by the process which involved chemistry and timing and planning as well as needing an “artist’s eye” … find the right shapes and colors and size and purpose. Mom was very good with a distinct vision and style. She never told me how to decorate the pieces and encouraged me to experiment.

Her “studio” was a camper trailer that was hot in the summer and cold in the winter. But I spent hours at the table that converted into a bed scraping away the seams from the mold process and painting the objects after they had been bisque fired. She never let me use glazes, because they were expensive. She never had a kiln, and depended on a local ceramicist who had one to fire her objects, at a cost, of course.

Years later I was looking for a hobby. I was working shifts at Grandy’s in Victoria, Texas as an assistant manager. My wife was working a “normal” 8 to 5 job at a chemical plant and I often found myself looking to find something to do. I signed up for pottery lessons with a lady in Goliad, Texas and learned to wedge and do pinch, coil, and slab building. I stopped taking lessons before getting to wheel throwing but made several passable objects … a couple of vases, some knick-knacks like hearts and cars and a statue of a cartoon man and even a golf ball! For some reason, likely either finances or time, I stopped the lessons but always remembered how much I enjoyed it.

Now, of course, I’m an old man, recently retired. I joked for years that some day, when I retired, I would become a cranky old curmudgeon spending his days in a thrown together studio, daring people to criticize my “art.” Well. Here I am. I have the opportunity to do just that, and decided to take plunge.

Last year my wife Janie and I took a pottery class put on by the art teacher at Nocona High School, Shannon Smith (now Shannon Farmer). I took the class primarily to see if I was still enamored with clay. Turns out, I was. And now, thanks to the support and encouragement of Janie, I am hip deep in the process of building a workable studio, really learning all the things I have a cursory knowledge of, and figuring out all the ins and outs of becoming a cranky curmudgeon potter.

Heat rises. You are what you eat. Like father, like son. Heading home is a good feeling. Some things don’t change … and shouldn’t.

Why pottery? There are a lot of reasons. Here are a few:

I can make what I want.

There are a lot of things I can make.

If I make something terrible, I can toss it in a bucket full of water and re-do it later.

It reminds me of my Mom, a big creative influence in my life.

It reminds me of my Dad, a story-teller, and art objects tell stories if you look closely enough.

There are a lot of potters, but not enough to make it a “run-of-the-mill” hobby. I’ve never been exceptional, but I’ve always enjoyed being unique.

I like the engineering and science and art that the whole process requires.

And finally, why not?

What now?

I’m 60-something years old and never had a real “hobby.” I’ve dabbled at golf. I’ve tried a bit of writing. I’ve done a lot of home projects and cooking and generally just wandering around. I’ve never wanted to be the kind of person who retired and spent their time watching Bonanza re-runs, soaking myself in the ( oh- so-awesome ) classic rock of my 1970’s youth, or waiting to see if Blue Bell is on sale at the Dollar General. So. We’re going to take a swing at this. I’ll keep you posted on how it’s going.