The Potter’s Grind

The Feature

Why the Art Club Is Awesome

By Jen Woodard

A version of this piece was submitted to Ceramics Monthly. They passed. So it’s finding its home here, where it belongs.

The first time someone walks into our pottery room, they often pause at the threshold—not because they’re unsure, but because they can feel it. There’s something in the air beyond the familiar scent of wet clay and kiln heat. It’s the hum of conversation, the sound of laughter ricocheting off concrete walls, the gentle rhythm of wheels spinning. It’s love, honestly. And once you step inside, you’re part of it.

What we call “Art Club” started in 2018, back before the world stopped and we all learned what it meant to miss gathering in physical spaces. A handful of pottery students wanted somewhere to hang out between classes, a place where they could keep their hands in clay and their minds in that meditative space that wheel work creates. I said yes, opened the studio doors wider, and thought maybe we’d get a few regular visitors.

I had no idea what we were building.

Today, every afternoon, the pottery room is standing room only. Students wedge clay at communal tables while others trim at the wheels, and somewhere in the corner there’s always someone hand-building something ambitious—a sculptural piece that will probably require engineering discussions and collaborative problem-solving. The room holds art majors and nursing students, theater kids and agriculture majors, athletes and musicians. What they share isn’t their major. It’s that they’ve found this space and recognized it as theirs.

We’ve watched two romances bloom in this room that have since become marriages.

“No negativity in here.” When someone walks in mad or stressed, we don’t ask questions. We just hand them a piece of clay.

That’s the one rule, and nobody ever wrote it down. New students adopt it and internalize it until it’s theirs to enforce. I love it when I hear a first-semester student say it to someone else—no negativity in here—like they’ve always known it. And I love the answer that gets passed down when someone asks how you can tell the clay is finally centered on the wheel: you feel it in your soul.

Also In This Issue

Why Mugs Are Important

Mugs are important. I knew this long before I ever sat down at a wheel. My friends and I used to collect them from our travels—a shelf full of the places we’d been, each one a small souvenir you could actually use.

When I started making functional pottery, I ran straight into the heartbreak of it: a mug can look beautiful and feel beautiful in the hand and still perform terribly. I wish I had a dollar for every time I’ve told a student, “If you want to get serious about functional work, you have to make a lot of pieces and let people test them.” Everyone has a type of mug they love. The hard part is honoring that without losing your own style.

Mine run a little heavier, a little sturdier—because I’ve felt the particular grief of shattering a favorite mug, and I’d rather make something that sticks around.

The older and more nostalgic I get, the more certain I am: a mug matters. Your favorite one is there for you every single morning, in the sad seasons and the joyful ones—a small daily reminder that somebody loved you enough, or loved their craft enough, to make it. Maybe even to make it especially for you.

My daughter, who loves my pottery, paid me the highest compliment I’ve ever gotten. She told me there’s a mug out there she likes—but if she bought it, it would feel like cheating. 😀

From the Kiln

What Came Out of the Last Firing

Opening a kiln never stops feeling like Christmas morning. You load it knowing roughly what should happen, and then heat and pressure have the final say—which is the whole wabi-sabi lesson, if you think about it. This round brought a fresh run of mugs and a piece or two that surprised me in the best way.

On the Calendar

Summertime, baby. There are summer camps quietly coming together—clay and cameras both. Details soon. Stay tuned.

Jerry’s Corner

A few words from the resident bird.