failure is fascinating

how do you react to failure when it doesn’t count?

This weekend at my pottery studio, I made the small pitcher, above.

For the record, it was supposed to be a large vase. I’ve been going to the pottery several times a week for the past few months, and about three weeks ago, something clicked: I was suddenly able to throw any item I intended to throw. If I wanted a bowl, I’d throw a bowl. If I wanted a vase, I’d throw a vase. Any item I wanted to make, I made it. Naturally, I became confident. Unfortunately, I became cocky.

And then on Saturday, I threw this not-a-vase-pitcher-thing. It’s asymmetrical, and it has uneven walls. The spout just sort of … appeared. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the pot I threw after this one was worse: the entire structure collapsed, and just like that, two pounds of clay went into the recycling pile.

Pottery is nothing if not a lesson in heartbreak, and Saturday, I was deflated.

That said, this isn’t the first time that happened, and I know that sometimes that’s just how it goes — some days are just off. It’s like some sort of jumbee (Trinidadian, see also, “mischievous spirit”) comes into the space and turns everything on its head. (I’m actually half-convinced this was the case on Saturday: one woman who has an MFA in ceramics trashed one of the pieces she was throwing in disgust. Another member whose piece didn’t seem to be working suddenly realized that her wheel had been rotating in the wrong direction the entire time — clockwise instead of counter-clockwise. And finally, one young woman, while cleaning up after her throwing session, leaned over the sink too far, and the faucet shot cold water down the bib of her overalls, completely soaking her. If all these events aren’t evidence of a jumbee, I don’t know what is.)

All kidding aside, as I was throwing this va— I mean, pitcher, I kept thinking of the wise words of my friend Jenn Romolini. I interviewed Jenn for my upcoming book — she has a weaving hobby, one at which she insists she’s horrible. But she loves the practice, in part because, in her words, “failure is fascinating.” She maintains that not only is it interesting to figure out where she went wrong when her weavings fall apart, but failure also prompts her to interrogate her own emotions: why does she have such a strong reaction to a failure that, ultimately, has so few repercussions (after all, she doesn’t sell or weavings, or otherwise make a living making them)? What do her heightened emotions teach her about herself, and what can she learn to help her face disappointment when the stakes are higher?

Remembering her words calmed me. And when I returned to the pottery on Sunday, I added a small handle, in an attempt o turn it into something I like.

It’s not perfect, but it’s now officially a cruet. Which is far fancier than a vase or a pitcher, I figure.

And on that note, here’s my wish for all of us this week: that we spend time doing something we love, purely for the love of doing it — and in doing so, may we learn more about ourselves, whether everything goes well or not.