Being Clayful

We went to a pottery studio last weekend.  It was a long-standing item on my bucket list. When the opportunity finally presented itself, I jumped at it, despite the fact that my family wasn’t nearly as keen on the idea of spending the afternoon getting dirty as I was.

I love clay.  I love the mess. I love the process and I wish I could immerse myself in it not just for a couple of hours on a Saturday afternoon.

I want to know, and see, and touch everything that birthed the piece in my hand, that led up to its formation during our visit there and everything that followed after we left.

And, of course, I can’t wait to see the end result! I feel like a mother with her baby in the ICU (I know what I am talking about because I was a mother with a preemie who spent first 9 days of her life in ICU). And even though I can rest in the knowledge that my baby is in good hands, yet I can't help but wanting to just bring her home and hold her!

I was so giddy with excitement that I almost missed it… 

The piece. 

On the sales table.  

In fact, I was so giddy with the creative adrenaline rush that I almost missed the entire sales table altogether! I walked by it several times but it wasn’t until I was on my way out at the end of our visit that I noticed  the little price stickers.

These are for sale? I asked a young helper standing nearby.

I think so… pretty sure. Priced as marked.

Sale seems to be the key word which has a strange power to slow me down even on the most hectic day!

Ooooh… I gasped to a screeching halt. Let me see what you got….