Resilience

I began last year splitting my time between restaurant work and finishing my residency program at Core Clay. My heart was completely devoted to pottery, but my gig as a waitress fulfilled me as well. I could pay my bills easily and I was surrounded by people enjoying the dining experience. Whether they were the ones cooking the food, selling the bottles, or leaving a tip, I felt my time in the service industry served me incredibly well, both in spirit and pocket, but little did I know a pandemic was on its way. Fast forward to today, January 7th 2021, and I sit here in near disbelief that I spent the better part of 2020 doing what I love, and getting paid for it.

I am honored and elated, but often I am also anxious and unsure of the future. Someone asked me the other day if they could pick my brain about the business and I couldn’t help but think that I actually have very little answers. Before I even had a say so, I was diving into doing ceramics full time, and extremely thankful for it, because of the peculiar and devastating global situations. And while I wouldn’t want it any other way, it has posed challenges that I simply have no reference as how to handle. All of this to say that I feel I have everything and nothing to relay at once.

I found it fitting that I start blogging as a direct result of this discovery… the never ending irony of life- the yin and yang, the coinciding happy and sad, and how often I sit with those dualities. For me, taking some time off of Instagram felt like one of the only ways to truly clear my head. I wanted to give myself some space from the inevitable comparison I do as I scroll, the constant checking of messages, and the proven-to-be addictive qualities that technology possesses. Though as you know, I primarily run my business using this platform so the choice was met with resistance and has continued to be a topic of discussion in my head.

What I’ve found is that taking a step back hasn’t changed my desire to share with others, through words and photos, my day to day. My hope is that I can do so more thoroughly here on this blog. So once again, I am meeting myself in a place I haven’t been before, trying to walk down a foreign path with nothing but bright eyes. I think this is the way and that there may be no other.

Alas, I still feel the inkling to be completely prepared- ready with my list of goals, schedule in hand, and planner in tow. There’s those tugs and pulls coming into scene and I’m discovering, yet again, how to listen. It is amazing how resilient we humans are. Seven months of non stop throwing, trimming, glazing, firing (essentially back, wrist, and neck breaking work) nearly jolted me out of my own self care responsibilities, listening being one. Pressure took form in a way I had never experienced before and some days I found myself not having had a glass of water at 3pm.

Needless to say, I imagine many of us have been here, and are here, regardless of what each of our jobs look like. I have learned so much about myself, others, my brand, my purpose, and our world in the last year and like many of us, I have mourned and rejoiced along the way. I wonder where we will be in 5, 10 years… I’m fond of many dreams, clay always in my hands, but they range from homesteading ranch style studios with not a person in sight for miles to a gleaming city store front setup with lots of spoiled employees.

Tierra Madera Ceramics has come so far from my old apartment kitchen, to the next apartment’s second bedroom, to the basement in our first house, and now my own private studio in an artist warehouse. It has taken on many shapes and styles up until recently where I have honed in on a color palette and clay body I adore, a dinner ware line I’m so proud of, and a ~monthly shop update that leaves me so very speechless each time.

And even so, After a restful, beautiful break for the holidays, it felt like I couldn’t even find the strength to crawl back to the studio. Watching everyone else get in their cars on the 4th, I wanted to run out on the front porch and tell them all to get back inside. It felt like burnout and it felt like floods of fear. On Tuesday I managed to clock a little over two hours and there was nothing to show for it except the lingering worry that I was going to abandon my craft, my business.

I went home, sulked over my feelings, worked on the bird puzzle I am determined to finish, slept like a rock, and woke up for the fifth day of my “30 day yoga journey” to discover that many of the feelings had been shaken off. What occurred next was a massive 10 hour studio-deep-clean that I could damn near feel my mind completely emptied and polished too.

And here I am, coming back to the same realization that it’s just a matter of one foot in front of the other most days. It could even be the thought to do something, and not, but to sit and ponder it and let it soak in. I suppose what I’m attempting to do in writing this is materialize that human resilience in a letter. And while I suppose that would mean this is actually a letter to myself, my hope is that by sharing it with you, we can focus on that spirit together.