Perfect Pottery Chapter 3

A moment later she had removed the contents of the cabinet and the display wall, placing the pieces of pottery on the large white table among the remaining dust of her latest project. The rash impulse to smash them all flooded her body with angry adrenaline. A blue plate caught her tense eyes. 

It was square and medium-sized. Her face scrunched in question, which group had it belonged to? The plate was not immediately offensive. The edges were smooth and equal. The base was sturdy and uncovered by glaze. The glazed color was radiant and clear. But an air bubble marked the underside of the plate, disrupting the glaze. This had been a reject. 

Her critical eyes appraised the object, pleased to find the defect. But her hands were satisfied with the plate, and the mark was not immediately visible. She knew it was there, but was it enough to hide the plate in a dark cabinet? 

Not good enough, the sing-song mantra tap-danced in her mind. 
Tired fingers gently set the plate down. Surveying the rest of the pieces in a slow turn, a realization grew in her soul. 

“They are all good enough”, she thought quietly. 

Each piece inevitably had some imperfection, some more offending than others. But they were all works of creation that she had spent time and energy on. They were all hers, and some did not deserve to be crammed in a cabinet. She couldn’t even tell which ones were symbols of shame and failure. 

The analytical side of her mind offered to assess their value one by one, detailing their flaws so that she could display only the best ones. But the new understanding silenced that old desire for comparison. These were handmade pieces of design, not measures on a chart. Their value was in their existence and expression in her life.   

Carefully she began to move the pieces onto the display shelf. The judgmental mantra fought back in her mind, struggling to regain its control. 

“They are not good enough!” it jeered. 
“They are all my works, and they deserve to be displayed,” she answered back calmly.

The display shelf grew full of art. The remaining pieces earned homes in her living space. A blue plate with an air bubble scar joined the kitchen. A streaky black dish became a home for earrings in her bedroom. A dented white and turquoise vase awaited flowers on the dining room table. With the placement of each one she felt more security in her new mantra. 

Returning to the studio table, she picked up the dried clay bowl. The specks of blood were visible, and she didn’t want to wash them off anymore. It didn’t matter. This piece of creation was good enough.