Throwing Muses

If you were to ask me what the words "ceramics class" bring to mind, it might come as a surprise that overwhelmingly, before even a mention of Ghost-style sex, the immediate answer would have to be: the Eagles.

On repeat. Every day. There was nary a day at old Laguna Beach High School when the Eagles didn’t blast in Bill Darnell’s ceramics classes. There was also never a time when anyone was too mellow from a little lunchtime weeding that they couldn’t hit play on the stereo. We were fired and ready to glaze.

Now, as a “grown-up,” ceramics have come to mean items a bit more refined than a stashbox with the lid accidentally glazed on or the occasional really terrible sculpture. Following my mother’s lead, I’ve taken a wicked fancy to all things early- and midcentury, and pottery’s no exception. Where once I used to hunt thrift stores for vintage heels, it’s a set of McCoy bowls that gets my heart racing now, and stumbling on a piece of Heathware for four bucks is enough to call for a celebration cocktail.

Unfortunately, staring at gorgeous new Bauer planters doesn’t make the price go down, and a field trip to the Heath factory in Sausalito is about as close as I’ll ever get to surrounding myself with a full set of its dinnerware. It does, however, get me thinking: Why not try to re-create the pieces I love the most?

Imagine my surprise when my first entrance into The Clay Studio on Bluxome Street is met with complete and utter silence. There’re a couple of people sitting at a table and a few more at the row of wheels, but nobody’s talking and Don Henley’s nowhere to be found. After a few more awkward minutes of feeling like I’ve dropped myself into something way too intensely serious (this is Beginning II, mind you) our teacher, Joyce, corrals us to the table.

We round-robin our names and experience and it turns out most everybody’s been out of practice for at least a year or two, most having last taken a class in college. The extremes seem to be between one gal who’s taken this particular class a few times before and myself, who, of course, has lied about not having touched wet clay since high school. (It later comes out that my classmate has taken a total of eight eight-week sessions at The Clay Studio – eight! Couldn’t you buy your own kiln with that kind of money?)

Joyce gives us our first demonstration on the difference between a bowl and a cylinder and sets us free to make the latter on our own. Everyone’s a little rusty and Joyce is realizing how far from “II” we are, and I’m face-to-face with issue #1: I can’t throw. Not a bowl, not a cylinder, zip. I finally get an uninteresting vase-like thing not to wobble over, and it’s time to go home.

Our second class begins much like the first, with hellos getting a little less timid, even a bit of friendly chatting, but still no music. No Eagles, no country, not even a little Mozart to get us flowing. Joyce’s demonstration this time is on bigger bowls and how to add cool dimensions to them. All around me people are finding their groove and…I…just…can’t…throw. I leave class having created nothing.

The next week I can’t make it on Monday, so go to the alternative class on Wednesday taught by John. I try a new tack and timidly ask about slab pieces and how I might make a cake plate (which has been my secret goal for the class). He’s helpful and gives me some good ideas. My heart’s not in it, though, and I leave having rolled out a piece of clay into a circle. Not exactly a success.

Class number three begins with a demonstration on how to throw bottles, which look amazing and then fall to mush in my hands. Bowls break away from their bases, holes tear open in my cylinders, and Joyce’s advice is that I’m not approaching my clay calmly. I cry hot tears the whole car ride home and realize issue #2: I hate this. It’s too quiet and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I skip the next class and feel as gleeful as if I were cutting fourth period Economics.

A few days later, I get the Heath Ceramics newsletter and fall in love all over again. This is why I took a pottery class in the first place: the simple loveliness of functional midcentury potters like McCoy and Bauer; Edith Heath’s avant-garde plates that could still make the most rustic table look chic. I change into my crusty jeans and head over to The Clay Studio on a day off. With every eight-class session, you get eight hours a week of free studio time, but my schedule’s left this perk untapped till now.

Two classmates are already there. They’re the chattier ones who I really like and we get a good banter going (one works at Tartine, knows one of my workmates, and also has an old Volvo) all the while I’m wedging, centering and, Holy Shit, throwing piece after piece. Granted, they’re not straying much from the small bowl/bud vase realm, but I’m doing it and it’s actually fun. This time I leave with arms scratched by gritty brown clay and imaginary high fives for everyone.

Our penultimate class arrives and I set to glazing all my little creations, then move on to finishing my masterpieces: two cake stands of differing sizes that will adorn all my summer party tables. They’re leather-hard and I slip the stand to the plate part and let everything dry a bit longer before trimming and lovingly smoothing all the edges. My Tartine friend stops to “ooh” over them and Joyce, who happens to be passing by, imparts the wisdom that when they go into the kiln the heat’s going to make the flat part wilt. As in: It will look more like a mushroom than a cake plate.

I become even more determined to see them through and decide on two different options that I hope will leave at least one of them un-toadstooled. I set the larger cake stand upside down, thinking if it gets fired plate-down it’ll remain flat and I’ll just glaze the underside, which could look cool. I break the smaller one into two pieces – plate and base (again hoping the plate will fire flat if it’s lying that way) – and plan to glaze the top of the plate as intended, then epoxy the two together.

I arrive at our last class brimming with excitement to see if my experiment has worked and slam into issue #3: My cake stands haven’t even been bisque fired. In fact, none of my glazed pieces have been fired. I join in with the potluck, admire everyone else’s work, and figure patience is a virtue worthy of any great artist.

Another trip to the studio and that patience is rewarded with my first batch of little pieces. Some are too folky for even a mother to love (I thought I read the glaze chart right), but my two little bud vases are actually kind of cool and once home with a friendly succulent to liven them up, I’m actually pretty psyched. It’s certainly a start, and with those cake stands on the way, I may just keep up the practice. Hell, you might even say I’m excited to throw again. Of course, I’ll bring my own Eagles tape next time.

Classes at The Clay Studio run in eight-week sessions and include eight hours of studio time, clay, glazes, and firing for $235. A month of unlimited studio time (sans classes and clay) is offered for $110; a pretty good deal if you just want to do your own thing and already know what you’re doing. Theclaystudio.com gives a good rundown of options.

If you want some inspiration (or just want to skip to the part where you own handmade ceramics), check out these cool local ceramicists:

First opened in Sausalito by Edith Heath in the late 1940s, Heath’s tableware still makes me catch my breath, it’s just so goddamn lovely. Visit Heathceramics.com or see the collection firsthand at the shop in the Ferry Building or the original Sausalito factory.

Gorgeous lidded jars, boxes, and bottles, as well as other functional pieces that would double as art on any well-laid mantle. Lencarella.com

An out-of-this-world beautiful collection, with vases that’d look perfectly at home in Tatooine – or any Eames-loving household for that matter. Sarapaloma.com

Well loved around town for her artistic and whimsical designs (and for good reason), Diana Fayt’s craftsmanship shows in each hand-etched and painted piece. Dianafayt.com