There is a passage in the book of the prophet Jeremiah (18: 1-5) that compares the relationship of clay in the hands of a potter with the relationship between the people of Israel and God. We read:
“The word that came to Jeremiah from the Eternal: ‘Go down to the house of a potter, and there I will impart My words to you.’ So I went down to the house of a potter, and found him working at the wheel. And if the vessel he was making was spoiled, as happens to clay in the potter’s hands, he would make it into another vessel, such as the potter saw fit to make.
Then the word of the Eternal came to me: ‘O House of Israel, can I not deal with you like this potter?—says the Eternal. Just like clay in the hands of the potter, so are you in My hands, O House of Israel!’”
I read the prophet Jeremiah’s description of the potter’s process as an illustration of the finicky nature of clay. Jeremiah is describing the work of a professional potter, and matter-of-factly says that there will invariably be a vessel that will be spoiled, for that is what happens with clay in a potter’s hand, and that the potter knows to simply wedge back the clay and start again.
Centering the clay follows wedging (I wrote about wedging in my last blog). I take the wedged clay, place it in the center of the wheel, and start the process of centering. Centering is a hard skill to grasp and incredibly fulfilling when one achieves a level of proficiency that allows the potter to feel the flow of the clay in the hand. Centering is a series of motions the potter makes to ensure that the clay is shaped in a mound that is perfectly conical, equidistant to every inch of the wheel head. I put my wedged piece of clay in the approximate center of the wheel, wet my hands, push down the clay with both hands, place my right elbow on the side of my right thigh (for leverage) and compress the clay from bottom to top with even pressure. I then wet my hands again, and push down the clay with both elbows close to my ribs, repeating this motion until I feel that there are no bumps left on the clay. There are times that I just need two up and down pulls to feel that I am ready for the next step. There are times that it takes many more tries before I feel ready. Finding the perfect center, in life and in pottery, where one feels ready to start a journey or to continue even when facing inner struggle and/or outside adversity is a cycle that always requires improvement. Sometimes it takes two tries, sometimes it takes ten—a potter must be flexible and patient, accepting the reality as-is. Just as clay in the potter’s hands can be spoiled and later reshaped, so can we, beings made out of clay, make mistakes and later reshape, recenter, and change. My feeling is that if my tradition imagined that human beings should be perfect from the beginning we would be made out of a strong or beautiful material, such as steel, silver or gold, and not out of this finicky, fragile material. Centering clay on a potter’s wheel is a reminder of human fragility and fallibility, an acknowledgment of our limitations and the openness to living with the certainty that at times a complete reshaping is necessary.
I remember that when I started to learn how to throw pots I struggled with centering. I would have, invariably, introduced new air bubbles into the clay during the wedging process, which would make the process of centering the clay on the wheel impossible. I would put the clay on the wheel, turn the wheel on, speed it up, wet my hands, and then watch as the clay seemed to develop legs and run away so it could splash onto the nearest wall or on the floor nearby. When I finally understood the coordination of movements needed to center the clay I felt the power of centering, of finding the exact point where everything is balanced, everything is equidistant and in its right place. I learned to center clay and to understand that sometimes I have to start from the beginning, no matter how proficient a potter I am. That brings a feeling of equanimity. I am a potter and I center the clay, and I am also like the clay—in need of new beginnings and a search for a new center.