I long to create something of beauty. Yet as I sit before the wheel with another lump of clay, surrounding me are the many creations of my hands, and they are far from beautiful. Functional objects with purpose and use, yet rough and sharp in shape.I return to my work and begin to shape the gray mass into a recognizable form; but AGAIN the result is simplistic and lacking. “I just don’t know how to do this! To create beauty beyond function is beyond me, but I want more! Ugh!” I raise my hand in a fist meant to reduce the object on the wheel again into a spinning, shapeless lump when he grabs my hand from behind in midair just before it finds its mark.
As he grasps my clenched fist my fingers begin to relax. I feel his embrace as he reaches around me from behind laying both his hands onto the back of mine. The gentle strength of his touch reassures me causing me to relax into this one who loves me.
I yield to his movements. My hands again grasp the clay as it turns on the wheel. The gentle press of his fingers over mine as I touch the clay begins to shape the piece in a new way. With his skill working through me the beauty of the piece is beginning to be unveiled. I am creating a thing of beauty.
Could this be what it is to live my life joining him in his work? Not doing it on my own under his teaching, not moving away from the wheel to watch him do the work, but instead to rest into him trusting his movements through me?
