Yes, I have a she–shed. Other than my pack of dogs, no one can enter without permission. My she-shed is not strewn with overstuffed pillows, lace curtains or yoga mats. It is a 9 X 17 pottery studio, filled to the gills with clay, glazes, a wheel, a kiln, lots of spider webs and even more dirt. I love my she-shed beyond reason.
You should know that I am not the artsy fartsy type. I am 100% left brain. Not only do I lack any artistic talent, I am challenged when it comes to manual dexterity. For years, I blamed my sloppily wrapped presents on my twin boys. I can’t get away with that anymore now that they’re 15.
My road to a she-shed is paved with parental ineptitude. I came to this mothering gig late. Well into my 40s late. A few years into parenting twins in my dotage, I realized that I couldn’t balance a demanding job, motherhood, and taking care of an aging parent (sound familiar?) so I jumped off the career ladder I had been climbing for over two decades. I threw myself into motherhood with the same mixture of enthusiasm and fear with which I had practiced law. I became that mom — I volunteered for everything I could at my kids’ school because their admission to Harvard depended on it, right?
One beautiful late fall afternoon, I sat outside my sons’ kindergarten class cutting out construction paper Kwanzaa bears. Instead of being content, I kept thinking, “My life has come to this?” To add insult to my misery, a little girl asked me what Kwanzaa has to do with bears. I had no idea. With one question, a five year old had ripped off my competent parent mask.
Demoralized, I headed for our local community center that was having a sale on ceramics made by students in their classes. (It was either that or hit the donut shop.) I have always loved pottery and have bought scads of it over the years. Because of my aforementioned lack of artistic acumen (coupled with a lack of time) I had never considered trying it myself. But that day, as the lady at the cash register rang up my considerable total, she said, “If you like pottery so much, you should take a class.” I was too busy caretaking. I didn’t have time. I didn’t deserve to do something frivolous. I smiled and left.
A few weeks later it occurred to me that with all this caretaking I was doing, someone wasn’t being cared for. To my surprise, I enrolled in a ceramics class. And to no one’s surprise, I sucked. No false modesty here; I really, truly sucked.
The first bowl I threw was named “the ugly bowl” by my family. I was not insulted because to call it merely ugly was kind; it was horrifying awful. As my fellow students progressed to making bigger and better pieces, I continued to make thick, misshapen bowls suitable only for dog food or guacamole. One day, my lovely and patient instructor saw me mangling some poor clay and screamed, “Debbie – step away from the wheel!” Undaunted, I persisted.
A few years into taking ceramics classes, I bought a pottery wheel and stashed it in a dank corner of the garage. I loved throwing when I wanted to, not at some specified time each week. Still, I didn’t think that I deserved a place of my own to indulge my passion, so I remained in the garage where my wheel and tools competed with paint cans, jumper cables and crates of my boys’ discarded toys. Then one day, I was looking at two dilapidated, rat infested sheds by our pool. It occurred to me that if they were connected, I could actually have a shed of my own. I also realized that I might actually deserve it. A few weeks later, I had my she-shed.
Over the years, I’ve sloooowly improved. Heck, I even sell my stuff, sometimes to people I’m not related to.
Why pottery?
- It’s absurdly satisfying. Making something out of clay is primal. No matter what the result, the process is enthralling.
- It’s therapy. When I am throwing a pot, my mind is focused only on what I’m doing. All those little voices nattering about what I should have done or I should do shut up. It’s delightfully quiet. Clay therapy is cheaper and more effective than psychotherapy.
- It won’t destroy your life. Remember “Unfaithful?” The film with Diane Lane and her lovable but rumpled husband Richard Gere? Diane begins an affair with Hot French Dude. Before everything goes to hell, a friend tells her about someone whose life had disintegrated because of infidelity. “She should have just taken a pottery class like the rest of us,” she comments. If Diane had listened, Richard Gere wouldn’t have murdered Hot French Dude, and most importantly, Diane would have had a she-shed.
- It gives you something to obsess about. I used to wake up in the middle of the night, every night, worrying about my cases. I still wake up every night and chew on stuff. Now it’s, should I layer Ancient Jasper glaze over Obsidian? Maybe I should carve those mugs I just threw. Ooh, I haven’t thrown porcelain for a while. All so innocuous that it puts me back to sleep. You know how guys obsess about golf? Pottery is golf for girls except (1) it doesn’t cost as much; (2) you don’t need sunscreen to do it; and (3) you can eat off the results.
- Pottery isn’t fattening, and, most importantly. . .
- IT DOESN’T MATTER. Your life is chock full of things that matter: your kids, your job, your significant other, your aging parents. How you care for each of these matters tremendously. But pottery doesn’t matter. Can’t center that 9 lbs. of clay you unwisely tried to throw? Who cares? Trimmed right through the bottom of that bowl? So what? Put on too much glaze and it ran onto the kiln shelf? OK, that matters. But 95% of the time, it’s just dirt. When you carry lots of responsibilities, as we all do, doing something where the results do not matter is freeing.
Pottery not your thing? I get it (actually I don’t, but I’ll say that). What’s on your Pinterest boards? Cake decorating? Flower arrangement? Water colors? What is it that you love but you haven’t tried because you (1) don’t have time; and/or (2) you know you’ll be bad at it and/or (3) you don’t deserve it? Just go for it. Go get your she-shed. In the meantime, if you’re in the market for guacamole or dog food bowls, you know where to find me. Just knock before you enter.
For more about making our homes our favorite places, please see :
- Non-Invasive Facelift for the Kitchen and Family Room
- Condo Kitchen Renovation: Cool Shades and Warm Sunshine
- Patio Remodel: Fireplace, Seating, and a Louvered Roof
- HOSTAS: the lazy gal’s gardening secret
