Trying new things 🎉

an interview + new project thoughts

Hello, friends –

A few months ago I signed into Facebook – rare these days – and saw that my friend Sharon had listed her pottery equipment for sale on Marketplace. Curious! Sharon has been an avid potter for many years. I wondered why – maybe she was upgrading her equipment? Transitioning to a studio? Hmm…

I made a mental note to ask her about it the next time we talked and it turned out that Sharon was selling her equipment because she was done. You might be surprised to hear this, but I’m a big fan of quitting! Having the courage to say goodbye to things that are no longer for you? AMAZING. Being “bad” at something new when you’re really good at something else? I LOVE IT.

From the time that Sharon had an inkling that she was ready to move on to actually parting ways with her tools took two years. My guess is that she’s not alone in this. I thought it might be helpful to share her story for those of you who are between project ideas or considering trying something out of left field (my two cents: go for it! Let your curiosity guide you!).

1. How long did you do pottery for? Can you tell me a little about how long you were doing pottery and what the practice meant to you?

I practiced pottery off and on for over twelve years. At the time I was a ballet dancer and a graphic designer; two creative endeavors which encourage the pursuit of perfection and precision. Picking up pottery was a sanctuary for my creativity, a dance of hands and clay transforming raw earth into vessels of expression; a felt process that was so much more real than my day job moving pixels. Each time I sat at the wheel, I was reminded of the beauty in imperfection—the gentle asymmetry of a bowl that tells a story of its creation, the subtle fingerprints that mark its surface, proudly displaying how it was touched over the course of it’s becoming.

The tactile experience of molding the clay brought me into a meditative rhythm, where movement flowed like water, grounding me in the moment and forcing me to be present. As I shaped and reshaped the clay, I felt that I embraced the lessons of patience and resilience, finding joy in the process rather than the outcome. Pottery was teaching me that true artistry lies not in perfection, but in the authenticity of each piece—a reflection of my own evolving self. In every crack and curve, I discover a new facet of my creativity, celebrating the beautiful dance of making something from nothing.

2. How long did it take for you to decide you were finally ready to let go of your pottery practice and commitment? What helped you get there or how did you know it was time to move on to other practices?

Eventually what once brought me joy in pottery gradually morphed into an obligation. As my skills progressed, I found myself burdening the work with expectations—my hands, which had once freely explored the clay, now felt pressured to produce pieces that met an ever-increasing standard of excellence. The acceptance I initially embraced faded, replaced by a constant drive to create bigger, challenging and material defying vessels. I struggled with the harsh realities of the craft, spending weeks nurturing a piece only to watch it shatter in the firing process—a stark reminder of the fragility of both pottery and my own ambitions. I spent enough time at the wheel that eventually my wrists, my back and my hips hurt nearly as much as my heart.

It took two long years to confront this shift, to acknowledge that the joy had slipped through my fingers like the clay I shaped. Guilt gnawed at me as I contemplated selling my equipment—the costs I had incurred were both financial and temporal. I worried about disappointing the family members and studio community who had supported and encouraged my journey.

Ultimately, the decision to step away felt like a surrender, an acknowledgment that sometimes we must release what we love in order to reclaim our own sense of enoughness.

Before I made the decision to step away from pottery, I took the time to create a list of things I wanted to accomplish, ensuring I had explored every avenue of opportunity before closing this chapter of my creative practice. I reflected on the skills I wished to refine, the techniques I had yet to master, and the projects I had always dreamed of creating. This list became a roadmap for my final journey through pottery, guiding me as I sought to find fulfillment in the craft once more.

I committed to experimenting with new glazes, challenging myself to create pieces that evoked emotions and sparked joy. I enrolled in workshops to learn from other talented potters, hoping that fresh perspectives would reignite my passion. I set goals to participate in local craft fairs, envisioning my work displayed proudly for others to see. I even taught a workshop myself; sharing a little known technique for creating large pottery without centering large amounts of clay!

As I checked off each item on my list, I felt a sense of purpose returning, but I also knew the time had come to find closure. With each completed goal, I gained clarity about my relationship with pottery and the weight of expectations that had overshadowed my love for the craft. Ultimately, acknowledging the end of this journey became a powerful act of self-discovery. I embraced the idea that it was okay to let go, knowing I had given my all and explored every opportunity. In doing so, I found a sense of peace in the closure, allowing me to cherish the memories and lessons learned while opening my heart to new creative possibilities ahead.

3. How did it feel to say goodbye? How about now, anything you'd do differently?

The relief I felt when I sold all my pottery equipment was profound and immediate. As each piece found a new home, I could feel the weight of expectations lifting off my shoulders. No longer did I have to grapple with the pressure to create perfect works or live up to the standards I had set for myself. The physical act of selling my tools symbolized a release from the constraints that had come to define my practice, and with it came a refreshing sense of liberation.

With the equipment gone, a world of new possibilities began to unfold before me. I could finally allow myself to explore different creative avenues without the guilt of abandoning pottery. Ideas that had been tucked away in the back of my mind—such as painting, photography, or even writing—now bubbled to the surface, waiting for the opportunity to be pursued. It was as if I had cleared a path through a dense forest, revealing a landscape rich with potential.

This newfound freedom allowed me to reconnect with the joy of creating without the burden of comparison or self-imposed limitations. I found excitement in the unpredictability of new mediums and the chance to experiment without the fear of failure. The relief of letting go opened my heart to inspiration and creativity in ways I hadn’t anticipated, reminding me that, while one chapter may close, countless others are waiting to be written.

4. Anything else you want to share?

I'm trying to embrace the idea that very few things in life are permanent, encouraging a fearless attitude toward starting or stopping ANY endeavor. This understanding allows me to approach new projects with enthusiasm, knowing that they can evolve or change direction at any moment. Similarly, when something no longer serves me or sparks joy, I feel empowered to let it go without regret. Life is a series of experiments, and each experience—whether it flourishes or fades—contributes to my growth and understanding. This perspective frees me from the fear of making the "wrong" choice, encouraging me to explore and take risks, confident that every step along the way adds depth to my journey. Ultimately, the impermanence of our pursuits fosters a sense of adventure, making every moment an opportunity for discovery and renewal.

And who knows, maybe one day I'll feel inspired to work with clay again :)

“Very few things in life are permanent” – YES! Here’s a helpful phrase for all of us: “for now.” Done with pottery for now. Trying <insert wild idea> for now. Thank you for sharing your story with us, Sharon. Want to see what she’s up to now? Check out her social or her website.

Have you decided on your project yet? Just a few days left until we start this Sunday, February 23.

→ If you haven’t decided yet, join us for a workshop this Thursday! Sign up here.

→ If you have decided on your project, it’s time to share! Post on your platform of choice and let your friends and followers know you’re doing #The100DayProject. Ask for the kind of support you’d like to receive! For example, you might have seen me ask here in the newsletter for you to rate and review the podcast. Sometimes people need to know what kind of support or encouragement you’d like! It’s ok to tell them. People love to be helpful. It’s true!

XO,
Lindsay

P.S. We also have a workshop this Friday on how to document and share your project. Find out more and sign up here. And you can always see our most recent posts at www.the100dayproject.substack.com.

Here are some new project thoughts for you – mostly excited with a side of “what am I getting myself into?!” Tell us yours!

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