The Artist

Elise Sutter

Artists hold talent

That most others don’t.

Molding, shaping, creating

Their work is never done.

Forming a concrete form

Of an abstract idea.

Using their hands in

A transformation into beauty

From a cold, grey slab

Of potential.

An artist holds the

Amazing ability to create

A magnificent nothing

Out of a pile of nothing.

With only imagination

As inspiration.

Untitled

Nicole Hangartner

Silent doughball

Molded

Wedged

          Splat! On a bat

Centered to its best

          Swish! Swish! Go her hands  on the clay

Burning

          Scrape! Pain on the sides of her hands

Concentrating

Laughing

Pushing

          Slip covers everything

Pulling

          Slowly up towards the ceiling

Trying to make it look like a pot

The satisfaction comes near the end

As she cuts it off the bat with the wire tool

          (Smiles as big as a kid who got sweets)

Untitled

Gina Bender

Plop!

The clay hits the table

Thinking that I’m unable

To get all the air bubbles out

I did it without a doubt

Wedging

Smack!

The chunk of clay gets thrown on the wheel

It is smooth to feel

I tightly hold my hands as the wheel turns around

Hoping that my clay doesn’t hit the ground

Throwing

Hummmmmmm…

The wheel steadily turns

As I focus on my finger, with its burns

I push my elbow against my body with force

As my clay becomes more coarse

Centering

Hush

Noises thin the air

As people squirm in their chairs

Hoping their clay doesn’t fall

They are not having a ball

Pulling

Pottery Project

Melissa Wendt

Teaching is my dream

Given a chance

I show and help to make a masterpiece

Gently spinning of the wheel

Soothes the soul

Wet smooth clay swirling

Between my student’s fingers

Slowly creating a masterpiece

Tall and skinny

A lump forms into a cylinder

The beauty of excitement

Is shown in the way my student’s fingers seem to caress

The newly formed project

Smiles show through a

Frowning brow of concentration

When praise is given

To select excelling creators.

Pottery Poetry

Susanna Kiel

Beginning with an awkward blob of clay

I pound it on the table

Smashing out the air.

Soon it’s a dense round ball

I toss it on the bat and

Begin centering it between my hands.

It molds to my pressure

Feeling slimy and wet.

While enjoying myself

Before I know it

The ball Is now a perfect cylinder,

Dripping with water

The too thin walls collapse,

Before anyone could even see it!

Blindfolded

Gabriela Leano

Sometimes it is better

To let your hands do the job.

Sometimes it is better

To cover your eyes

And let the touch make your pot.

Deep darkness in front of me

Scared about the gray thing

A gray ball flying away

Just like my mind that doesn’t care.

More than one feeling

More than one thing going on

My hands start dancing around

When my eyes have died.

It is done, subliminal

The light comes back to me

My sight reborn

Everything is different

And she is there waiting for the fire.