I've given the old kick-start to my studio this week! It fired up slow and reluctantly though, reminding me of my beloved Honda XR75, back in the day. I sat at the wheel, threw a lump of clay on the wheel head, and gave it a whirl. In no time, my kicking leg started aching and I wondered how it was possible to be so out of shape. That didn't seem fair since I work out almost every day. Then I thought way back to the original construction of this kick wheel. My dad and I built it together. I had a vague memory of his instruction to grease the fittings every year or so to keep the bearings from drying out. That was in 1994. Maintenance jobs are mundane. But, also apparently necessary. So, I found the grease gun out in the garage and lubed up the first one. Easy enough. But, how to get to the other fitting? I discovered that if you lie upside down under the inside of the frame, you can get catch a glimpse of the second Zerk fitting. And, if you reach into the 3" gap underneath the brick wheel, holding onto the tube of the gun, and with the other hand the gun itself, you may be able to grease it up. But, you may very well need a third hand to pump the trigger, in which case it could be possible that you'll have to use your head. Yes, indeed, you just might. Oh, the lessons to be learned and the resources that need to be tapped to maintain my sanity. Ironic, isn't it?
The wheel was now humming. But, there was a little bit of unfurling to be done after being away from the wheel since last December. It was hard for me to listen to the rotation of the wheel and bring the pot up gently, guiding it with my fingers. I could feel the tension in my shoulders and the unevenness of my rhythm. The first pots ended up too thick and got chucked into the recycling bucket. I decided to throw some cylinders, the most basic of forms. Finally, my breath slowed down. We were both centered, and it felt great.
Then I contemplated some designs for the pots. They submissively sat, waiting for the possibilities. I could cover them with a variety of glazes, etch out a form maybe, an image, or even a pattern. I could sculpt onto the pot and add dimension. I looked through my photographs from last summer. In a Minnesota February, that kind of beauty seems impossible to have happened in my backyard. I shaped my ideas onto the clay. I am so happy to be back on the saddle.
I've given the old kick-start to my studio this week! It fired up slow and reluctantly though, reminding me of my beloved Honda XR75, back in the day. I sat at the wheel, threw a lump of clay on the wheel head, and gave it a whirl. In no time, my kicking leg started aching and I wondered how it was possible to be so out of shape. That didn't seem fair since I work out almost every day. Then I thought way back to the original construction of this kick wheel. My dad and I built it together. I had a vague memory of his instruction to grease the fittings every year or so to keep the bearings from drying out. That was in 1994. Maintenance jobs are mundane. But, also apparently necessary. So, I found the grease gun out in the garage and lubed up the first one. Easy enough. But, how to get to the other fitting? I discovered that if you lie upside down under the inside of the frame, you can get catch a glimpse of the second Zerk fitting. And, if you reach into the 3" gap underneath the brick wheel, holding onto the tube of the gun, and with the other hand the gun itself, you may be able to grease it up. But, you may very well need a third hand to pump the trigger, in which case it could be possible that you'll have to use your head. Yes, indeed, you just might. Oh, the lessons to be learned and the resources that need to be tapped to maintain my sanity. Ironic, isn't it?
The wheel was now humming. But, there was a little bit of unfurling to be done after being away from the wheel since last December. It was hard for me to listen to the rotation of the wheel and bring the pot up gently, guiding it with my fingers. I could feel the tension in my shoulders and the unevenness of my rhythm. The first pots ended up too thick and got chucked into the recycling bucket. I decided to throw some cylinders, the most basic of forms. Finally, my breath slowed down. We were both centered, and it felt great. 
Then I contemplated some designs for the pots. They submissively sat, waiting for the possibilities. I could cover them with a variety of glazes, etch out a form maybe, an image, or even a pattern. I could sculpt onto the pot and add dimension. I looked through my photographs from last summer. In a Minnesota February, that kind of beauty seems impossible to have happened in my backyard. I shaped my ideas onto the clay. I am so happy to be back on the saddle.