If there is one thing ceramic artists can agree on, it is that you have to be ready for any and all outcomes. I spend weeks on the work that I do, and I know that it could go wrong at any point. 

I have watched works be knocked to the ground and shatter, fall off the wall and smash into a thousand tiny pieces or break right in half when it was carried wrong. There is no silence quite like the one that follows in the studio when there’s an unexplained crashing sound. It is disappointing to have the outcome of such hard work end so abruptly. 

However, I have never seen acceptance come faster than after a work is broken. There is nothing to be done except to move forward and there is no going back to how it was before. The best thing to do is to try again.

I employ that same philosophy with my own work — whatever happens happens. It often happens that a crack will mysteriously appear overnight, or the clay will warp or sag or any number of things will go wrong. More often than not, damage control is what I become preoccupied with. Even after taking delicate care to ensure the best chance of success, there is no guarantee that it will be okay at the end. 

It is a cathartic experience. Before every firing, I lean over the kiln and look at my work one last time, remembering it exactly as it was in that moment because when I see it again it will never be the same. I close the lid and accept that there is no going back, I can’t hit the brakes on it now. 

Even when things don’t turn out as planned, I have learned that there is still much to gain from a bad outcome. I learn the limits of my techniques, what needs fine-tuning and what I can do better next time. 

There’s no possible way to control the exact outcome — it may work, it may not. Maybe it will be beautiful or horrifically ugly. Does it feel like a personal betrayal when my work has a crack or doesn’t work out? It does! But for a little while. I knew it could happen anytime, but acceptance swiftly follows. 

I am of the opinion that when you’re unhappy with an artwork, it’s best to tuck it away for a while before looking at it again. When I pull it out again, I look at it with much kinder eyes. Maybe it’s not what I wanted, but that’s okay. Its existence is proof that I exist, and isn’t that a wonderful thing?