Clay Goats

Ever since I first watched the movie Ghost, I have wanted to learn to throw pots. Finally, my dream is becoming a reality. Two weeks ago I began a pottery class. For three hours once a week I get my hands dirty as I play with clay. The first class was all that I hoped it would be. There I sat with my very own block of clay, and I formed and shaped three bowls. I am an artist.
I went to the second class a few days ago. I got out one of my bowls to paint it...and it began to crumble apart in my hands. Hmmm. So I began to paint another bowl and soon realized that there are others in the class who seem to be able to make their bowls look like something you would want to buy....while mine looks like something only a mother could love. hmmm. We moved onto our new project--making slabs and forming them into cylinder shapes. The teacher made it look so easy. So, I did as she had shown us...only instead of becoming a flat square, my clay became a lumpy, cracked blob. Hmmm. I decided that it's in the second class that we begin to separate the proverbial sheep from the goats. I think I'm a goat.
But I still love those three hours of my week. Three hours where my only concern is the shape of my clay. Three hours where no one can call me. Three hours where, even as I try to create, I don't have to produce. There can be beauty in being a goat, even if I'd rather be a sheep.