“Hi!” came a cheerful email from our local arts centre. “Would you be interested in being on a discussion panel of potters during Clay Palooza? Bob Kingsmill is going to be on the panel. And we have a few competitions to participate in, too, would you like to do one of those?”
Gulp.
Me? On a discussion panel? With Bob Kingsmill?
Let me explain.
First of all, Clay Palooza: it’s a fun day full of clay events in the context of the local Winter Carnival. I missed it last year, the first time it was held, but I was looking forward to attending it this year. I was just going to go as a visitor, watch other potters – you know, real potters – do fun stuff such as compete in challenges like “blindfolded throwing” or “who can throw the biggest bowl”.
Then, Bob Kingsmill. He’s a local master potter. I found out about him a couple of years ago, when a friend gave me a beautiful little ramen bowl of his for my birthday; and then last summer, I saw some of his pieces at the Vancouver Art Gallery. That’s the kind of potter he is.
And I was being asked to be on a panel with him.
“Yikes,” I told the organizer, “that’s scary. How many others are going to be on that panel?” Maybe I could hide behind some of them.
“Oh,” she said, “we’re aiming to have four or five potters of varying levels.”
Varying levels? That was okay then! I could provide the bottom level.
Actually, once I thought of it, I realized that it was the perfect opportunity to get on my bandwagon: Pottery is for Everyone! You don’t have to be a master to make perfectly useful, functional, beautiful work! I still use one of the first bowls I handbuilt when I was thirteen as my everyday fruit bowl.
So I said yes, shaking in my boots.
And I signed up for one of the challenges, too – “Handbuild a Mug in 15 Minutes”. I practiced, to make sure I could hold my own with all those other amazing ceramicists that would be there strutting their stuff.
Turns out I wasn’t the only one shaking in their boots about having been asked to be on the panel. I didn’t find someone to hide behind, but I found someone for mutual propping up. It was good to have another person to share trepidations with – “Oh no, we’re on! What do we do? Where do we sit?”
And it turned out really great.
I brought along some of my pieces – tiny ones, because that’s what I do, and they’re very portable. A couple of Tiny Gnomes, a little vignette with a tiny table and mug and book, a Cheesymouse. I sat them in front of me on the panel table.
“My goodness,” Bob Kingsmill said when he saw them, “let me see your hands!” Well, yes, I do make tiny stuff. With my fingers (and some tools, like discarded dental tools). I was flattered to get that kind of attention from the master. Who is a lovely, hilarious, kind person, and I was so glad to meet him.
The panel discussion was so interesting. We answered questions such as “How long have you been working with clay?” (apparently Bob opened his first studio the year I was born. That’s… a long time ago), and “What’s a mistake you still make?” I learned so much from everyone else! And one of the biggest thing I learned is humility. The people who’ve done this for decades still say they “don’t know anything”. Which is, of course, not true – they know and can do so much! – but it was hugely encouraging to hear that even after all that time, they still feel like that.
And then Bob almost made me cry.
“What still inspires you to work with clay?” was one of the panel questions.
With tears in his eyes, Bob brought up the horrific tragedy of the school shooting that happened in Northern BC last week. And he said (I can’t remember his exact words, but this is the gist of it) that art is one of the ways people can cope. He gestured to my little gnomes, and he said, “This is the sort of thing that counters the awful stuff in the world.”
Oh my word.
My Tiny Gnomes. Little mice sitting on cheeses.
A counterpoint to the big, awful, overwhelmingness of the world.
That is so much what I want to do with my art – both clay and words. Set little pinpricks of joy that help us to keep living.
It didn’t matter anymore that I’m not a master, that even the invitation to this panel triggered a roaring case of Imposter Syndrome.
I’m not good at throwing straight pots on the wheel. I don’t sell a lot of my pieces. My sculptures are not terribly innovative and artistic. I make tiny gnomes, not high art. But those tiny gnomes are art. They’re the kind of thing that can bring tiny moments of joy in the midst of the world’s darkness.
It was such an incredible validation of what I’m trying to do.
Small art for small people. Art is for Everyone.
And then I went on to the “Handbuild a Mug in 15 Minutes” challenge, and my mug-on-a-mug missed getting first place by half a point (but I got a prize anyway!). And at the last minute I’d signed up for the “Team-Build a Trophy” challenge, and in that one my team did get first place (also by half a point), and we had so much fun. No strutting was involved, we just all enjoyed ourselves. Because the pottery community is like that.
I’ll probably not ever get rid of Imposter Syndrome where my ceramics and my writing is concerned. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that my work, even my very small work, can be a part of the light that counteracts the darkness.
Life, the Universe, and Small Art. Even a Tiny Gnome can play a part.
(Photo credits of events: Emma Kopp)
