Page 19 - Focus Artesia Summer 2020 | Creative Arts & Music

Cr
Creativity is eativity is

a J
a Journeyourney

BY KIRSTEN MAURITSEN

When I was a child, it was never

said that I lacked creativity.

was always busy on one project or the next… I wasn’t good at
drawing, painting, fashioning mud pies. My interests throwing on the wheel.
I were endless. If it involved using my hands and In fact, I was terrible.
creating something, I wanted to do it. Many unfinished I’d sink my thumb
projects were left in my wake as the next new thing too deeply into the
caught my attention. clay and put a hole
in the bottom of my
That spark didn’t leave me as I grew up. I just learned how cup. I’d try to pull the
to finish things - most of the time. I can’t imagine living clay into a vessel wall
life without creating, whether with words or paint, clay and would pinch too
or wood or fabric. Now, as I continue to explore what it hard, thinning out the
means to be a creator, I often reflect on the moments in clay so it sagged and
my life that brought me to the place I am today.
buckled. I wouldn’t
I have a twin brother. If you had compared the work of thin enough, leaving me with a five-pound cup that could
our five-year-old selves, you’d never have guessed I’d turn hold just three ounces. Lumps would appear on my rims.
out to be the artist. The problem was simple – I couldn’t Bowls would collapse. If a person wanted a mug as heavy
color inside the lines. My scribbles ranged far and wide as a brick, I was your girl. Off-center bowls with floppy
across the page. My brother was neater and more precise, walls? I could churn those out. Most of my attempts
which perhaps explains why he became an engineer. My ended up in the recycle bucket.
family likes to laugh about this story, but I also feel relief. At first I was frustrated. Clay was my favorite medium
Thank goodness no one told me that because I couldn’t to work with. I’d felt it was my calling. And up to this
color inside the lines, I shouldn’t even try.
point, if I had worked hard enough at making something
During my freshman year of college, I took my first I would eventually produce something good. In short,
ceramics class. I had worked with clay before in art I was failing spectacularly. But I quickly realized, as
classes in high school, but this was an entire class I made wonky bowl after warped cup, I enjoyed the
dedicated to just clay. I was ecstatic. Ever since I’d first process. I loved the slide of the clay beneath my fingers
touched clay I’d loved it. The ability to take a lump of and the alchemy of taking a mound of clay and forming
what is essentially mud and make something from it it into a vessel, no matter how awkwardly shaped. I
always seems a bit like magic to me. couldn’t deny the joy I felt in sitting for hours a day,
creating with clay. Gradually, I got better. Not good, by
I was also thrilled that we were going to use the pottery any means. Just better.
wheel in class. I had longed to throw on the wheel but had
never had the chance. A little part of me was certain that Being awful at throwing on the wheel taught me that
throwing on the wheel was something I was MEANT TO creativity is a journey. Often that journey isn’t easy. Nor
DO. When the day came in class and I sat down on the does it stop when we reach a certain age. In my ceramics
tiny bench, a lump of clay in front of me, it felt like the class, two silver-haired ladies were also experiencing the
heavens should open up, a warm light beam down, an joys of working with clay for the first time. They were
angelic chorus sound. I was positive this was my calling. better than me, too.
I pushed the pedal. I touched the clay. There was no If it’s something you love to do, it’s worth putting work
warm light. No angelic chorus. into it. It’s even worth doing badly for a long time.

SUMMER 2020 | FOCUS ON ARTESIA 19