In the Moment - - Take A Moment -

col­lapsed. Too fast. She hadn’t se­ri­ously thought she could save it, but she had quite liked the odd sculp­tural shape she had cre­ated. She mashed the clay up in her hands and threw it back on the wheel.

“You shouldn’t re-use that,” one of her class­mates piped up. “It’ll be full of air now. It’ll blow up in the kiln if you re it.” Laura smiled sheep­ishly. “You re­ally think I’m go­ing to man­age to make this into a cup on my sec­ond at­tempt?”

“Your cen­tring is not bad for a rst-timer, you just need to ease o the pedal: slower is bet­ter.” Laura smiled in­wardly as her critic got back to her work. She went to get some new clay.

The rst cou­ple of days were spent re­peat­edly throw­ing clay on the wheel and re­peat­edly throw­ing her work in the bucket of clay to be wedged and re­cy­cled. She was get­ting there, as there were now a small num­ber of bowls and cups she thought she may keep lined up on the shelf, but it was a hum­bling ex­pe­ri­ence. They were very clearly the work of a begin­ner, their walls thick and with feet that needed trim­ming. The days were a repet­i­tive cy­cle, a rhythm that was be­com­ing au­to­matic. By the end of the sec­ond day, she felt a mi­graine com­ing on from her un­blink­ing con­cen­tra­tion. This was too hard. Was she do­ing well? Did it mat­ter? She’d start again to­mor­row with a clear head.

Be­fore she’d even en­tered the door the next morn­ing, Laura could hear the gen­tle hum of the mo­tor and smell the damp earth­i­ness. Her pace quick­ened. She was of­fi­cially hooked and couldn’t wait to feel the yield of the clay be­neath her hands again. Ty­ing her apron as she sat down, she now found com­fort in the fa­mil­iar rou­tine, the sense that this was ‘her’ wheel. While Da Vinci had prac­tised draw­ing the

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