When I first began throwing pottery, every finished piece felt like a small victory. After managing to center the clay, raise the walls, and create a form that could stand on its own, it was difficult to imagine that a vase might not deserve a place on a shelf.
Over time, something changed.
It didn’t happen all at once. The change arrived gradually, almost quietly. Today, I sometimes look at a vase that seemed successful when it was thrown and realize, a few days later, that something isn’t quite working.
Sometimes the form lacks presence. The foot feels ordinary. The proportions fail to create the visual tension I was looking for. At other times, a later intervention becomes the problem. A carved decoration that initially seemed promising ends up weighing the piece down rather than enhancing it. A detail draws attention to the wrong place. An idea that felt right in the moment doesn’t hold up after some distance and reflection.
There are also more direct accidents. A base accidentally pierced during trimming. A wall weakened a little too much. A piece that reveals a flaw I hadn’t noticed before.
In the past, I would probably have kept most of these vases. Today, many of them find their way back into the recycling bucket.
It isn’t because the pieces have become worse. In many cases, the opposite is true.
The eye changes faster than the hands.
As we progress, we begin to see things that once went unnoticed. The flaws are not necessarily more numerous. They simply become more visible.
For a long time, I believed that progress meant successfully finishing more pieces. I am now discovering that part of progress also means recognizing more quickly which pieces no longer align with what I am trying to achieve.
That does not always make the decision easy. Letting go of a piece represents time, effort, and sometimes a certain attachment. But every vase that is set aside also creates space for the next one.
In the end, learning to create is also learning to let go.
