Still getting much practice in the art of letting go. A big platter I made with clay crumbled in my hands. Crumbled. Became a pile of smaller randomly sized pieces. And, it happened when I was at the latest stages of having it finished.
Repressing the desire to scream and/or cry (I was in a classroom after all), I focused on starting another one fresh and new. It was not surprising to me how upsetting it was to see my work fragment into nothingness. It was surprising, though, that I caught myself enjoying making the second platter—a lot. I was joyfully building it as if the mourning for the failed one had happened in a distant past. I think I like this working with clay thing more than I realized. I think I may also have found a way in supporting myself in letting go...

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