Art of Unyielding Hope
Creating Through Chaos.
On pottery struggles with lessons from the author’s fundamentalist religious upbringing, framing both as battles against rigidity—in clay and ideology. It argues for resilience: creating despite failure, rebuilding systems brick by brick, and using art to forge a future unshackled from apocalyptic thinking.
The clay was unyielding, nearly stone-like. When throwing larger pieces, soft clay is ideal—yesterday’s session offered no such luxury. I added water to the bag to soften the material and managed to throw 50 lbs of clay into eight vases. I aim for at least twelve by Valentine’s Day. The rigid clay made throwing more of a challange, compounded by distractions from the political climate. Life, work, and our economic and social landscapes are shifting.
Yet change remains the only constant. After enduring struggles, we might even grow to appreciate our hardships in time. As creators, we face losses: kiln loads, writings, and entire collections. The silver lining? We know how to rebuild after a disaster and withstand the aftershocks. I’m here for it.
We’ve all wrestled with suffering. Each trial prepares us for the next. I still recall losing my first kiln load—70 pieces overfired by mere 20 minutes in the gas updraft. It happened just before the 2020 Christmas show; every mug meant for sale was lost. Another batch of 36 mugs underfired because the kiln was packed too tightly. I refired them, but they arrived a day too late. These clay struggles, though harsh, paled next to the experiences of my youth in an Evangelical-Christian fundamentalist movement. There, the world’s imminent end erased any vision of the future. It taught me to live in the present, Stoic-like, but stifled my ability to imagine what could be.
I create best with a vision of the future. If I can picture a finished form, I can practice and build it. The first attempt may falter, but iteration brings progress. Before constructing the wood-kiln, I knew nothing of kiln building. The previous owner shrugged: “Just remove one brick and stack it on a pallet. Do that 3,000 times, and it’s ready to ship.” She was right. Reconstruction will mirror deconstruction—one brick, one hardship at a time.
Politically and religiously, the parallels hold. My grandfather, also entangled in Evangelical fundamentalism, often pushed back. I remember him storming out of sermons to sit in his car, or refusing to shake the preacher’s hand. No matter what happens, I’ll need work because the system demands it, pay taxes because the government requires it, and create because I must—even if it kills me. I’ll cling to my vision of the future, resisting apocalyptic dread. I’ll keep speaking truth to power and have and hold conversations I may not enjoy with others. At times, I will work with them on things we can fix but not cave in on the things we might not be able to work together on.
I need to keep creating, reading, writing, and thinking like my life and community depends on it. As artists and creators, we have a voice, and we should use it in a thousand or more ways to bring about the change we seek to make. We need to use empathy, generosity, and gratitude when interacting and remember not to become what we dislike.
“If we all think alike, no one is thinking.” ―Benjamin Franklin
If I were living today a second time, I would have:
Got up earlier to write. However, it was nice to sleep in on my day off.
Things I am grateful for:
I was able to go out to eat on a date with my wife and was able to get some throwing done. 8 large vases.
If I get to live to be 86, I only have:
13160 days left.