My story

I was always a creative child. It's woven in my DNA, the need to be creating things.  As a four year old I obsessively drew elephants for a year. Growing up in a new neighborhood with a pack of girls my age, the surrounding woods became our equatorial jungle, our 3D Oregon Trail, our diamond mine.  When I was 10, I was making mud masks from construction site clay. I was writing plays and filming short horror films on VHS tapes with my friends. Crafting, painting, constructing: it was all encouraged. Imagination was a necessary part of finding adventure in a suburban childhood. 

As I grew older, there wasn’t as much space for creativity.  8 hours in school and nightly homework leave little room for much else.  There are good grades to be made and college applications to prepare for. Being creative isn’t a practical or purposeful way to make a living.  So when the time came to pack my bags and go off to college, I chose to become a speech-language pathologist.

 What a responsible decision!  A career in speech therapy offers not only job security but also a chance to do something that directly helps those in my community.  I can say honestly that it has been rewarding to teach children and support families in raising children with special needs. However, work is work and the scheduling, documentation, and cancelled appointments can wear you down.  Who even reads the reports I spend so much time writing?

I no longer remembered the kid I was growing up.  What did it feel like to do things simply for the fun of it?  Where was the excitement I used to feel? Where had my imagination gone? Sure, my job had been good to me, but it didn’t satisfy my need to create.  I finally admitted that I was bored with life. I needed to sink my teeth into something new.

In 2010, as part of my “personal boredom elimination project”, I decided to start taking wheel throwing classes at a local community clay studio.  I worked with clay some in school and always had it in the back of my mind. As soon as my hands got muddy in in the clay spinning on the wheel, I knew this was it. I could do this every day, just for the fun of it. I was hooked right away.

One class became another and another... and then I became a studio assistant... and eventually ended up making so much pottery that I had to start selling it as a side business.  I was still working full time in speech therapy, but now I knew I could sell my creative work too, and it felt amazing.  

Following after other crafts makers I knew, I tried to do as many markets as possible, sold online, and picked up some wholesale orders.  In 2016 I bought a glorified shed on Craigslist that used to be a small dog grooming salon. After a stressful haul down the highway, the movers wedged the building between my house and the giant oak tree in the backyard. All in a very short time, I had my own home studio: wheel, kiln, dog hair, and all.  

I know how to make things happen fast.  I don’t really know how to be patient.  The next year I was still moving along at my usual high-paced speed. I had a large wholesale order of pots in mid-firing when the kiln kept shutting off. No problem, we’ll change out the breaker and keep going.  I had a bad sore throat in the middle of the summer. It’s okay, I’ll keep seeing my speech clients and doing studio work.... that is, until I found out I had mono.  "You can't keep doing this. You can't keep working so hard,” said my husband Noah. The only cure for mono is rest and time. My body put the brakes on strong to my fast-paced life.  

I was lost. I didn’t know what to do.  I couldn’t put much effort into anything, especially working in the studio.  I had to stop doing large wholesale orders.  I had to cut way back on selling at craft fairs.  And then I started to wonder... Why did I feel the need to keep up with all that in the first place?  Who was I trying to be? Wasn’t my time making pottery originally for me and my need to create?

This is where I am now.  I know I need to take time for myself.  I am a creative artist, recovering from burnout and the foolish expectations I get from comparing myself to others. Slowing myself down in my making and my life has been a struggle for me. I still sometimes rush to make lots of work for a craft fair, only for it to be a failure. After that, it leaves me avoiding the studio and feeling frustrated with myself.  I have a hard time making things for the pure joy of it, rather than because I think they will sell. 

Inch-by-inch I’m recovering. I'm getting back the joy of creating.  I’m finding ways to use clay to care for myself, be it the peace of being alone in my studio or the energy of being part of a group firing.  I’m learning from the wisdom of Christa Assad, Sunshine Cobb, and Marianne Tolosa: talented potters who have pivoted to putting self care first so that they can lead healthy, happy artistic lives. 

Nowadays, these are my intentions, my personal rules for my studio practice:

Make small batches of pots slowly, with attention to detail.

Make products and designs that make me happy. Hopefully they will make others happy too.

Make time for experimentation and exploration. Especially leave room for trying out custom glazes, printing techniques, and using wild clay from the yard.

Make connections with my customers. All things are better when shared.

So that's me. That's how I got here. Yes, I’m still figuring out what I want my life as a potter to look like.  I’m still finding my way. But I now know that I don’t have to rush to get there. Thank you for joining me on this journey.

Katie King, potter and owner