Sometimes in a blue moon I will unknowingly slap a ball of clay on the wheel head and start centering. Before I know it the clay feels like its growing with a will of it's own. And before I know it the pot is made. Leach would say "born, not made." It happened last night in the wee hours after midnight at the end of a long pottery day. I had just been thinking that I would rather be sleeping, as my family was, down in our cozy little house. And then, whammo, here was this pot! I cut it off the wheel, washed my hands and hung up my soggy apron.
[sorry no pictures, could it have been a dream?]
