When I first saw a potter’s wheel, it looked like some kind of medieval torture instrument. I was thirty at the time, returning to college to study journalism, and my art teacher was demonstrating how to throw a pot . . . with some difficulty.
My own first efforts at turning clay into beautiful pots produced a doorstop and pencil holder. But it was magic having this soft material respond to my slightest touch, and soon I wanted to master throwing as much as I did the subtleties of writing a good lead.
Once I finished school and began work as an editor at Nevada Magazine, I set up my own pottery studio outside of Carson City and con-tinued to pot each night from six to 10 p.m. I spent my lunch breaks reading books on clays and glazes at the public library.
As much as I loved writing, a stable income with benefits, I finally decided to exchange my word processor for a potters wheel—my life in the Nevada desert for one on the California coast. In 1991, I left my job, enrolled in an advanced ceramics program at the Mendocino Art Center, and worked my butt off for two years.
Eventually my partner I settled in Albion and built a studio and showroom amidst the redwoods. Our work is inspired by nature, Japanese flower arranging, food presentation, and ceremonial tea. The potters wheel that once looked foreboding, is now a friend.
