Everyone starts their art journey somewhere, and for me, that was at a neighborhood ceramics studio a little more than a year ago. I became addicted to the feel of clay, the triumph-failure cycle of the wheel, the loop-de-loop of joy and horror when pieces finally emerged from the kiln.
I turned out cheerful if not masterful pieces with reckless proliferation: The lumpy pink vase, the thick-bottomed trinket bowl, the loopy cup with uneven seafoam glaze. But then as I proudly posted pieces on social media, a weird thing started happening: People wanted to buy them.
