Motherhood, Clay, Motherhood, Clay

To be human is to be creative.

I had the best conversation with my cat last week.

He was lying in the curve of the bathtub, so relaxed, just looking at me as if waiting for me to speak. It seemed like he knew what I was going to say. Or maybe he knew what I needed to be reminded of. Hard to tell.

I explained to Pete that I had a lot going on but loved everything I was doing. I don’t want to remove anything from my life just because unexpected things, like hurricane days and broken fence gates, continually pop up.

Pete, of course, didn’t respond, but as I spoke, a knowing came over me.

Just operate from your heart center, the subconscious thought instructed.

I looked at Pete; I swear he winked.

Last night, this instruction guided me, yet I’d forgotten about it until today.

We were at baseball until 8:45, and my daughter was pushed into exhausted energy. She couldn’t keep it together as we drove home. She was lashing out at me and the boys. My husband was traveling. Somehow, I had to navigate the bedtime storm that was building.

By the time we walked into the house, she was in a heap on the floor, crying. My boys looked on as I slowly moved towards her and gently cocooned her body with mine. I explained that she was safe and asked her to put on her pajamas, brush her teeth, and get in my bed, not hers. I told her she could sleep with me. That’s all she needed. She slowly rose, and ten minutes later, I found her tucked into my bed with a book, nearly asleep.

What does this have to do with clay? Well, nothing, and everything.

If I continue to operate from my heart center, from love, I will understand the underpinnings of my work. I will grow as an artist and a human, which are one and the same. To be human is to be creative.

My daughter decorated the handle of my studio’s door. She wanted everyone to feel welcome and know happiness was on the other side. She woke up smiling this morning, and a few hours later, I thought of her as I trimmed pots.