Growing up, it took everything my mother could do to get my hands out of the mud, the sand, or anything messy and textured. I've always understood things better through touch than anything else. After years of persuading, I finally heeded my mother's suggestions and took a pottery class. She was right, as mothers often are, and I was hooked. To say it was love at first throw is an understatement. It was love, but it was also frustration, confusion, and very challenging. This humbling practice has taught me so much about patience and detachment, and to get back to the base of why I was doing this - because the meditative effect of clay in my hands brings me great joy. These are the products of that joy.