I’m a writer not a potter but . . .

I’m a writer not a potter but . . .

I commuted 50-miles each way from Nashville, mostly interstate. Whenever there was an accident beyond Hwy 192, I would exit I-40 and take a bucolic road home the rest of the way. In a tiny town named Pegram, I often stopped at a pottery studio/art gallery, Mud Puddle Pottery. I would browse exquisite ceramics. Behind a wide opening to a back room, artists worked on their projects. How I would wish I were one of them. 

When I retired from teaching, I made sure my wish came true. I attended a one-day workshop, eventually enrolling in a 6-week sculpture workshop. Two-years later, I am still there once a week, surrounded by experienced, incredible potters. My sculptures are novice, beginner- like. Nevertheless, the artists are welcoming and kind. I have found my tribe.