A couple of months ago, I decided to sign up for a weekend pottery workshop at a small community arts centre in my neighbourhood. I had been feeling a bit bogged down by my routine office job, so I thought doing something tactile with my hands would be a great way to unwind and recharge.
The session ran on a Saturday morning and was led by a local ceramicist who had years of experience. There were about six of us in the group, ranging from absolute beginners like me to a couple of people who had dabbled in sculpture before. We started off learning the fundamentals of wedging clay and centring it on the potter's wheel. Honestly, it looked deceptively simple when the tutor demonstrated it, but as soon as I sat down at my own wheel, I realised just how much hand-eye coordination and delicate pressure it actually requires.
My first couple of attempts completely collapsed into messy lumps, which was a bit disheartening at first, but everyone in the room was really encouraging. By the end of the three-hour session, I had managed to shape a modest little coffee mug. It was slightly lopsided and far from showroom quality, but I felt an immense sense of accomplishment. It was so satisfying to watch a rough lump of clay transform into something functional. We left our pieces to be fired and glazed in the kiln, and picking it up a fortnight later genuinely made my weekend.