Goodness, Did I Want This Pottery Kiln

It may take a while before I get to the WHY on this one. It's ok.

I fell in love with pottery before I spoke English or knew how to wash dishes.

Something about making stuff out of mud spoke to my hands, and I dreamed of one day being able to make beautiful things, useful things, things that my friends would want to have in their homes.

I had several starts, including the Christmas Day when the man I was dating surprised me with the loan of an enormous, industrial pottery wheel. Which he installed in the middle of my kitchen, breaking at least three big rules that I would later learn in Art Health & Safety class.

There it was, next to the stove. Inviting, intimidating - and huge. The man was a really talented potter. In fact, he was talented in almost everything: painter, singer, musician, electrician, carpenter, builder, designer, movie maker, and more. Somehow he was not so talented at communication, gratitude, interest in other people, and a few other little things that mattered to me. But he had long hair, green eyes and could make giant and lusciously colored spaghetti bowls. I had much to learn, much more than how to throw a good pot.

Anyhoo. He brought in The Beast, a lump of clay, and a few sponges. I was thrilled and briefly considered cutting my hair like Demi Moore in case he was envisioning middle-of-the-night sexy sessions at the wheel, slippery mud and all. Instead, he gave me one 20-minute lesson and told me to have fun.

I didn’t have much fun.

Wheel throwing isn’t easy and I despaired at my lack of getting along with the clay. When I wanted to forget the wheel and start pinching and coiling and playing, I could feel his disappointment from across the room and from above his keyboard. We couldn’t have that.

So I tried and failed, and despaired, and eventually, he took the wheel away. Eventually also, I took my heart away and waited a few years to play with mud again.

But I eventually did, never getting close to the scary wheel. I played and I built, and I carved and I smooshed, and eventually, my friends told me that they liked having my quirky small pieces in their homes.

I dreamed of one day creating a pottery studio in my house, complete with a couple of tables, maybe (maybe) even a wheel, and for sure, a kiln.

Time passed. I moved to Mexico.

The pottery studio dream started to stir a little and one day, as I was sitting by the banana trees on my patio, I decided to go for it and make it happen.

I went into research mode, and within a few days, I made my way to a company in Mexico City that had a good reputation for building strong and reliable kilns. My “reasoning” was that if I was left alone to study, practice, and practice again, I would eventually get good at it. My other “reasoning” was that I deserved this kiln. What I based this on, I am not sure. Certainly not on my years of experience nor my inborn talent as a potter. I chose to not overthink it. I talked with the man who owned the company who also, of course, seemed to think this was a muy buena idea, and I ordered the kiln.

It was not cheap and I was well aware that it would take me selling many pinch pots to break even, if I ever did.

I like being smart with my money and I knew this was a stretch. But the pull was strong and I did not resist it.

A couple of months later, after receiving weekly photos of The Kiln being built, I was told that it was on its way to me.

I could have levitated with joy.
The promise, the completion … the adventure!

Had I ever fired a kiln? Never. I had not even really paid attention when my stuff got fired at local studios in the States. But it didn’t matter you see, because I have done many things this way: I learn later. I learned to bake AFTER opening a bakery, I learned to ride a quad once I was sitting on it for the first time, and I definitely - like many of us - did not learn how to take care of a baby human until I was holding my own. I could do this.

Meanwhile, I was aware that I had work to do on the “how the heck am I going to power this thing?” front.

My house runs on solar, and I knew for sure that the system would not feed the power-hungry kiln.

I asked around, I took notes, I used many of the tools I had learned while building my home to open doors, get answers, and more.

Eventually, I was told that there was a way. Down here, there is pretty much always a way.

My neighbor assured me that we could run a cable from his house to mine, effectively letting me access the grid not just for The Kiln, but also my air conditioning.

I would just pay for the installation and then for his electric bill.

This was highly exciting.

More than a handful of pesos later, we were ready. I ordered some fun glazes, made a few adjustments to my small studio, and waited for the truck to arrive.

When it did, The Kiln was beautiful and I could hardly believe my luck.

The two guys who brought it took one look at my house (they had already driven through three river beds to get to me) and decided that their job ended with driving the thing to my door, not bringing it inside my yard, let alone into my house. They explained that it was crazy heavy and that I needed to find someone else to bring it in. Then they started scrolling on their phone, waiting for me to make a move.

It was almost dark. We had a problem.

Another good handful of pesos later, they brought in The Kiln, installed it where it would live happily ever after, and left. I went to bed high on life and waited for the sun to come up in the morning so I could connect it.

I never did.

I am not going to get into the details because they still pinch at me a little but I will say that as things are and will be for probably another few years, I am not able to provide The Kiln with enough power. Trust me when I said I tried.

This was rough. Many voices in my head were talking at me. I did a lot of writing trying to answer them or to at least be part of the conversation. I alternated between “when the time is right I will know it,” and “WTF is this about??”

The-Kiln-I-had-so-badly-wanted was right here in front of me. I talked to it every day, in the beginning. Told it that one day, he and I would play. Little by little I started storing a few things inside its big beautiful brand new belly.

I sometimes talked about selling it, and posted a few for sale ads online, but I never followed through.

And then, my overflow of creativity, the one I had built up for pinch pots and sweet little medallions, burst out. There was no holding it back and just like that, I started painting unstoppably. I started painting in a way I never had before and even I was in awe of what was happening on the canvas.

The Kiln looked on. Maybe it smiled.

Six months later, I presented my work publically for a more beautiful exhibit than I had ever imagined, then I did another show in the US, and now I am working on two upcoming ones. All within a year and all featuring a style of art that was fully new to me.

It wasn’t lost on me that had I been able to fire the kiln, it is very likely that I would now be the proud owner of 1,000 pinch pots and that they would not have near the effect that my paintings continue to have.

I saw that.
I see that.

I could almost make peace with it, stop resisting. I got used to sharing the space with The Sleeping Kiln, not asking or hoping for more.

“The day will come,” was my new phrase. Even though that day could be three years away.

But still, I knew that The Kiln was meant to soar, to burn, to create. Not to sit in front of my painting table month after month, hosting a chunk of clay and a few tools.

I know how life energy works, and I know that it needs to flow. The Kiln had been sitting near me for a year and a half.

So last week, I said yes to a woman who saw one of my half-hearted ads from a while back and I said yes to the money she handed me and I said goodbye to The Kiln, not without making an agreement with its new owner that I could use it to fire my stuff when the time came.

Then I walked back towards my studio, and took a big breath ready to face the massive empty spot, feeling bittersweet and a bit confused.

I had lost some money in the process. As I said, I do not like to make foolish money moves. Had this been a foolish money move? And if so, WHY?

I decided to trust that the WHY would come eventually.

And then, something happened.

As I moved a big plant to where The Kiln had lived, I noticed a spot on the wall, above the couch. An empty spot. And I knew just what I wanted to put there.

I went to get my drill and I made a hole in the concrete wall, the way I have been taught to do. There, I anchored a screw and gently lifted a big and bright blue painting onto it. I had bought it in a thrift storefor 20 pesos, about $1.50, planning to paint over it. I am guessing someone did not like it and had dropped it off. But me, I fell in love with it. Now it lives and shines in my studio.

Next was another frame, then another. Then a few Hearts, then a bit of furniture re-arranging. I kept at it for over 4 hours, energized, lifted, in FLOW.

Move by move, my home started to feel more and more alive and I knew, I knew exactly what was happening.

I had said yes, a big yes, to letting go of something which was neither Actively Used nor Deeply Cherished. My own mantra, the one I have been teaching for over twenty years; there it was, singing with me, rejoicing with me.

And possibly wondering what had taken me so long.

Which, I think was … fear. Fear of having made a mistake, of being wishy-washy, fear of “never being able to get another kiln,” and fear of regret. Fear, fear, fear.

My house and my studio feel so fresh, right now, so … renewed. The woman who bought the kiln told me how happy she was, and reminded me to come use it, she too is feeling the excitement of her new chapter.

FLOW. LIFE. LIFE FLOW.

All of it.

Even though I teach this stuff, even though I know the power of letting go, this one took me by surprise. Shocked me, even. The energy burst… wow.

So of course today, I invite you to look around your home, and your life and ask yourself what is not Actively Used or Deeply Cherished - and to consider parting with it.

It’s not always easy, but it’s one of the best life-infusions I know.

💛

PS: For those of you who are excited to accompany me on my “Once Upon a Bakery” spoken memoir journey, be sure to upgrade your subscription. We are taking off on Friday!