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Posted: 09 Aug 2016 07:05 PM PDT
per·fec·tion·ist pərˈfekSH(ə)nəst
noun: perfectionist; plural noun: perfectionists a person who refuses to accept any standard short of perfection.
No matter how I pushed or pulled, the clay failed to cooperate on the wheel. One wall of the cylinder was thicker, air bubbles lumping along the outside. It was three weeks into the spring semester and I still had nothing to show for all the hours spent in the studio. Another student chatted relaxedly to our professor as she effortlessly transformed her clay into a thin lipped mug. One of our other classmates was coating a set of already fired bowls in dark glaze.
I drooped, about to squeeze the life out of the lump of earthenware in front of me before throwing it away when my professor spoke.
"Abby," he said, "You're too hard on yourself."
Naturally, I blushed and smiled bashfully, admiring the masterpiece in front of me that was showcasing my astonishing ability to make an already ugly pot even uglier.
He continued, "Save that piece and work on another one."
It was in this way many of my imperfect pieces were saved, fired, and glazed.
When it comes to any arts attempted, I am a complete perfectionist. I am loathe to settle for rushed, unfinished or mediocre works in fear of others noticing my failures (thus making these spontaneous blog post challenges exactly that: challenges). I am proud in my perfectionism by being focused on what others will see when they take a step closer and notice the cracks covered by glaze.
What I often forget is the journey going on with every ceramic pot, every poem, every blog post. In order to let humility take its place as a pillar in my life and personality, I need the mile markers to be able to go back and recognize the small victories leading up to whatever I am striving to master.
Seeing the smoothly pulled clay pots created by other students and then looking at my own failed attempts was something I grew used to. Even though none of my cups or bowls ever embodied my idea of flawless, I was able identify my own growth. By the end of the semester I was could sit down and throw three bowls in one sitting by the end of the semester. And when my sets were lined up together at home, there was a story laid out with the time illustrated by the lessening of dents and disorder in each.
Without the crooked cups and lopsided bowls, how am I to remember that even these humble fruits came from humbler roots?

Abigail's graduation from the Community College of Rhode Island, May 2016
Projects from Ceramics I Fall 2014


