reflections from pottery class #1
i tried throwing clay while life as we know it ends
hey y’all,
today i’m sippin on an iced “fall oat boy” from gregory’s in midtown. i first came here in 2023, specifically because of this latte. i am borderline dogmatic at times about fall out boy. i had to see if it was any good, or if they were invoking their name in vain.
i promise i actually live in north carolina, and i’m not secretly roleplaying from a shoebox apartment in nyc. in actuality, i won’t have any more work travel for the foreseeable future. i hope to check out some more cafés in the triangle and beyond as i creep along into summer. i find myself returning to place-based strategies lately. the fall of the empire has me dreaming about community integration; and what does that really mean if you want to change the world by loving it?
the ruling class invests a ton of strategy, time, and money into local politics, while at the same time pedaling propaganda that local elections don’t matter. they know what i know, and what i believe you know deep down - our neighbors are our strongest allies. i mentioned last week that i was starting to dip my toe into integrating in durham, albeit gingerly. i did a lot of research on the ceramics scene in north carolina, and found a non-profit studio that offers multi-week classes for total beginners.
i tried signing up for the spring cohort but it sold out immediately. if you’ve ever bought concert tickets for a k-pop artist, it felt similar. there are only 10 spots available for each cohort, and apparently a lot of people that want to throw clay. i feel like there must be something evolutionary and primordial about humans and clay. in fact, i just had an essay published in t’art magazine about the creation of adam from a clod of earth. there’s a deep, spiritual connection between our hands and the materials we’ve siphoned from the earth to build something functional and beautiful.
i showed up so open-hearted and eager; ready to make lifelong clay buddies and make the perfect sized mug that i could replicate into my signature style. you can imagine how devastating a blow it was to leave with no one’s instagram handle or phone number and a lump of over-worked, unusable, slip-soaked putty. the second i walked in the door and my husband asked me how it went, i disintegrated.
i cried so hard that the wells of my eyes burned and my tongue tasted like mineral water. i just couldn’t recover. sometime during the drive home, my compulsion-wired brain zeroed in on every single wound i have been attempting to stitch closed for the last 20 years and pulled out the surgical thread one-by-one.
a powerful, pervasive, nonconsensual voice pounds the inside of my skull to remind me of my inadequacy. who it belongs to rotates, oscillating between the various adults who wounded me in my adolescence. family members, educators, friends, former lovers. endless refrains of critiques of my personhood, that aggregate to the deafening amalgamate message that i’m unworthy of being alive.
you’re talentless
you’re unlikeable
you’re a faggot
you’re a tranny
you’re a freak
you’re a loser
you’re a loser
you’re a loser
you’re a LOSER
when the dissonant yelling in my mind began to quiet, i realized that last one came from me.
i won’t project this onto you, but reflecting on this now in the aftermath i can see how disproportionate this reaction is; both to being bad at pottery the first time i tried it and not being immediately best friends with 9 total strangers. if you also read that and thought “that seems a bit much…” i validate that. you’re right actually.
OCD builds upon taking reasonable nerves and frankensteining them into life-ending worst case scenarios against your will. the worst part is that it convinces you of your own rationality. i’m actually so smart and good by picking apart everything about myself, because as long as i take my self-awareness to the extreme, i can never accidentally be a bad person without realizing it.
i’ve been doing parts therapy recently and it’s been surfacing some interesting new approaches to dealing with my specific blend of mental discordance. i have been encouraged to experience my feelings with raw openness - to welcome them fully even if they make me look and feel insane. even if they require some extra care from the people in my life. even if they’re totally irrational.
while using this tactic of deliberately fighting emotional avoidance, my post pottery-class breakdown presented some illuminating data points.
i am alienated from my labor as a knowledge economy worker. basically, i do a brain job not a body job and that brain job is working toward long term liberation. there aren’t a lot of tangible results in the everyday. the intimacy and immediacy of ceramics was overwhelming.
i am extremely burnt out from my career as an activist and from the immense amount of societal change in my lifetime. i’m faberge egg fragile.
i had built up this class in my mind as the antidote to all the things that have been making me miserable. this is my fresh start, and now everything will be different.
i’m still overcoming perfectionism, and the crushing feelings of inadequacy when i fail.
i’m lonely.
this last revelation feels nonsensical to me. my marriage and my friendships are beautiful and full. as i cried in my husband’s arms, covered in dry sediment with nothing to show for it, i forced myself to confront this loneliness directly. i found that at the heart of it, i have navigated my social connections by having as few needs as possible and giving as much as i possibly can. growing up being told i’m too loud, i need to much, i am high maintenance and controlling, i ran in the opposite direction of these traits until they were mirages in the distance.
the thing about living like that, though, is you never get your needs met. and if you aren’t asking to have your needs met, you aren’t in intimate relationships. SO… if i want pottery buddies and to get better at throwing on the wheel, i have to ask. i have nothing of traditional value to give in this scenario (natural talent, prestige, connections), which means i don’t have the upper hand. i have to be vulnerable, ask for help, and lower my expectations.
my second class is tomorrow, and i’m going to try to go in with no other goals than to simply be present and have fun. wouldn’t that be nice for a change?
xoxo,
kuya von
i showed you my gooey center, please respond 👉👈
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“don't you remember how we used to split a drink? it never mattered what it was. i think our hands were just that close. the sweetness never lasts, you know.”
jet pack blues, fall out boy
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