Start Where You Are: Learning Your Craft in Mid-Life
I'm about ¾ of the way through reading Florian Gadsby's book By My Hands: A Potter's Apprenticeship. I've burst out laughing, underlined passages, folded down page corners. It's an enchanting trip through his educational journey, mostly as it pertains to learning his chosen craft of ceramics.
Our lives and journeys are so very different. He describes an amazing pottery school he attended in Ireland instead of going to a 4-year college, and then a 3-year apprenticeship with a London potter. We're now at the part where he travels to Japan for a 6-month apprenticeship with an acclaimed potter on his epic property in Mashiko. Florian writes with such detail, I feel like I was there, and I mourn the fact that I wasn't.
It's got me thinking about how to move forward with my own ceramic education, and about all the ways artists learn their craft. Of course, there is no one way. After some consideration, I've settled on three central threads:
Start where you are
Remember who you are and where you are going
Say yes to the opportunities available to you
Start Where You Are
I know it would greatly accelerate my learning to be a full-time apprentice to a well-known potter. And yet, as I approach the next birthday in my late 40's, I've built a life that is not compatible with that path. Florian described long days, tiny apartments, discount sushi dinners, firing kilns late into the night. All of this sounds perfectly amazing and romantic for someone in their twenties, unattached, hungry to learn and full of youthful energy.
Then there's the path of art school. There are plenty of east coast schools with amazing curriculums and MFA programs that I would love. But back to reality — we're raising teenagers who are themselves starting colleges, and I already have 4 college degrees and two professional licenses. I think I've exhausted my tuition allowance for a lifetime or two. Plus, time is a-wasting. Did I mention I'm approaching 50?
Remember Who You Are and Where You're Going
Of course, I could just chill out and make pottery "my hobby." Plenty of people are very happy keeping their creative endeavors a hobby. No pressure, pure creative joy. Dabbling in clay when it strikes their mood. It sounds lovely actually! But umm, have you met me? I am unable to take that path. As a classic firstborn, I am not only driven to achieve, but obsessed with the idea of possibility. I want to be as good as I can possibly be, make things I never thought I could make. It's really not about any particular accolade as much as it is about surprising myself, going further, creating pieces that draw people in, drop jaws, spark conversation, bring joy and wonder. So no matter what the exact path, I need to at least pursue getting really, really good.
What?!
These works by Greg Payce, Canadian potter, blew my mind and remind me that the possibilities are endless!
Say Yes to the Opportunities Available to You
That brings us to the reality of how do we get this done? If we know where we are (almost 50, with a family and a mortgage and plenty of college degrees in my case), and we know who we are and where we want to go, how do we pick that next step? How do we design our own journey that actually works with our life?
I think in this case, we can learn from Florian. Despite the fact that his opportunities were very different than what mine are, what he did very well was give a resounding YES to the opportunities presented to him. He talked to potters at craft fairs, he put himself in new and uncomfortable positions, and then when he learned about an apprenticeship that he wanted, went for it full force. Which led to the next opportunity, and the next. It's not like when he was a teenager he thought, I'm going to train with Ken Matsuzaki in Japan. But one thing led to another, he said yes and yes and yes. And he put his whole self into those opportunities, the good, the bad and the ugly of working in someone else's pottery learning from them.
So my opportunities are different. It's a different time, and I'm in my own set of unique circumstances. But we both love the art of ceramics. And we are both saying yes. For me, it started with applying for a studio at GoggleWorks Center for the Arts. I didn't really know what that was going to look like. Several yes's later I find myself with a few years of teaching beginning wheel throwing under my belt, joining the Board of the art center, judging art shows, and mentoring high school students. And I've just finished building my very own studio at my house — no kiln yet, but it's one more dream realized.
None of that was my original plan. It started with one application I wasn't sure I was even qualified to submit.
Your yes will look different than mine. It might be signing up for the class you keep scrolling past. Asking the potter whose work you love how she achieves that look on her surfaces. Showing up to the Saturday demo when staying home sounds better. Saying yes when someone asks you to help hang a show. The size of the yes matters far less than the fact that you said it, because every one of them puts you in a slightly different room than you were standing in before, next to slightly different people — and that, more often than not, is where the next opportunity is hiding.
I've learned from each one of these steps. It's time to think carefully about where I'm going, and what's next. I don't think it's any random coincidence that everywhere I traveled this summer, I found my way into ceramics collections — the Yingge Ceramics Museum in Taiwan, tucked into a town that's been shaping clay for centuries, the Philadelphia Museum of Art, and the Gardiner in Toronto. Each visit was its own small yes, and each one lit something up. There's a drive toward my next level gaining strength, and I'm not sure yet exactly what my next opportunity will be.
But I know I need to start where I am. I'll finish Florian Gadsby's book, and seek more long-distance apprentice opportunities like it: books, online classes and tutorials, nearby workshops and demonstrations. Keeping a curious mind as I work next to talented potters in my community studio at GoggleWorks. And I'll take what I learn and apply it by sitting down at the wheel and putting in the work, making the mistakes, and keeping my eyes and heart open for the next opportunity.
There's something freeing in realizing the apprenticeship doesn't have a start date or an end date. It's not a program you get accepted into. It's the accumulated weight of every yes, every book, every hour at the wheel, every conversation with someone who knows more than you do. Which means you're already in it. You have been the whole time.
With Enthusiasm for Life + Art,