Dec 31, 2025
2025 is my first year taking pottery seriously. I finally got a membership at a local ceramics studio instead of taking random classes. I tried to practice more regularly. A couple of hours every one or two weeks, sometimes more.
This year was a lot about centering.
I learned that centering is not just about force, it’s about feeling. Feeling that uneven wobble as the wheel spins, and nudging it back into space, until everything smooths out and the clay barely touches my hands, and moving the body in a way that keeps my hands steady.
Centering needs a good amount of water, but not too much, or the clay becomes too soft to hold structure. The wheel needs to be fast, but not too fast when there’s a lot of clay and more force involved. Centering should not take too long either. Overworking the clay makes it tired for further shaping, but cutting corners at this stage means everything that follows rests on a weak foundation. It’s all about find a balance between force, moisture, speed, and time. And often times, also knowing when it’s good enough.
I still struggle with centering. Maneuvering my body to properly support to my arms is a constant challenge for my poor coordination.
I also struggle with letting things go. Is this piece worth keeping, or is it better to destroy it and start over? Flattening the clay I worked so hard to shape, letting it dry again, kneading, and re-centering feels like a meditative ritual. It tests patience and the ability to let go. I’m still learning both.
Somewhere in that struggle, I started to fall in love with the material and craft in new ways.
I love working with dark, textured, coarse clay like Cajalco. It’s messy, it’s hard to clean. But the feeling of touching something closer to raw soil is unbeatable. I love working through small mishaps and fixing imperfections along the way. Opened too wide, try collar it in. Lost center while opening, push the clay back in and restart again. Walls got wobbly while lifting, slow the wheel down.
What stays with me most is the focus that comes from the repetitive motion of the wheel.
In the sun-drenched studio, during early quiet mornings, it is just me, the clay, and the wheel. Everything quiets down, and I can bring forms to life.
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