‘My husband dreams I’ll be the next Grayson Perry’
Claire Cohen, 36, started pottery classes at the Putney School of Art and Design six years ago
My husband has a dream: that we will build a state-of-the-art pottery shed in our back garden, in which I can transform into the next Grayson Perry and make millions – one wonky vase at a time. Sadly it is not to be. Pottery, for me, is nothing more than a hobby, and that, I’m afraid, is set in stoneware.
I have always loved art, but I am not gifted artistically. Over the years, I’ve tried to fill the void with art history studies, handmade birthday cards and attempts at still life drawing that were frankly insulting to the fruit. But I’d always fancied getting my mitts on clay. Pottery, I reasoned, is the one art form that can be wonky and still considered charming or directional – could it be the answer to my craft lust?
The idea of using my hands to create something other than words (my day job) was also beguiling. So, in 2014, I signed up for a class at the Putney School of Art and Design, and have been going there, weekly, ever since.
A confession: when I looked up, for this article, how long I had been taking pottery classes I was shocked to discover it had been almost six years. You wouldn’t know it from my heavy lumpen bowls and childlike attempts at glazing.
Even after all this time, I still feel like a beginner. It probably doesn’t help that I am skittish; one week preferring to make something by hand, another taking to the wheel. I once spent an entire term robotically making 25 identical vases for my wedding, progressing not a jot.
But that’s the point. Pottery has helped me to shrug off the need for “perfection” that plagues so much of daily life, and embrace my (pots’) flaws. To me, now, it doesn’t matter if I ever master the art of throwing, so long as I throw out the need to master everything. In a relentless cycle of screentime, and the stresses and strains of modern life, pottery is sacred; three hours a week during which I can suspend reality and throw myself into throwing… as well as pinching, pulling, coiling, turning, wedging. I have a whole new dictionary at my disposal but, honestly, technique is secondary to the tactile joy of just pummelling a slab of clay.
Not to mention putting my phone down – they are gently frowned upon, which means there’s zero pressure to make Instagram-worthy pieces. No one but my tutor and classmates need ever see the worst. It’s not hard to see why that might appeal to my generation, whose entire lives have been ruled by technology. Researchers from the Royal Society of Arts identified a desire among we digital natives to be part of a “maker movement” and re-engage with the tangible skills of previous generations. Sign me up – if you can. My classes become more crowded with hobbyists by the term.
That’s why I disagree with Brad Pitt, a convert to ceramics in the wake of his divorce, who has called it a “lonely pursuit”. Each week, I sit among men and women, of all ages. We ask one another questions and admire finished pieces. But we rarely talk about work, family, life. What happens in the studio stays in the studio – and what happens outside is not invited in.
Kith and kiln remain separate. It’s why pottery is unlikely to become more than a hobby for me and my creations will remain crude. Grayson Perry has nothing to worry about.
‘There’s zero pressure to make Instagramworthy pieces’