Be Careful What You Ask For

Like most people, I get satisfaction from helping other people's dreams come true. The trouble is that dreams realized may not be exactly as the dreamer envisioned.

After living with the same man for 35 years, you would think I would have foreseen possible roadblocks to happiness when I encouraged, pushed, cajoled and physically helped said man to build what he had wanted for twenty years - his very own pottery studio.

This is a man who can do anything, and pretty much has. He took his first pottery class at the University of Alberta while he was a carpenter, working with a rough and red necked crew. Tuesdays and Thursdays he would pack-up at 5:00 and head to Edmonton amidst jeers and cat calls of "See ya tomorrow, Suzy Homemaker, don't break a nail!" . I had no idea he had a secret passion to be a potter, but he took his classes seriously and spent every spare moment at the university studio. The quality of his work improved quickly. I had no interest in pottery or anything to do with the visual arts, but even I began to learn enough to appreciate that this guy had talent and, even better, that he was really enjoying himself.

So it went for two years, then I finished my degree. We had a few months of free time before I had to start work, so we packed up a truck load of pottery supplies and spent the next 4 months on Savary Island, making raku pottery. That Easter we set the house up like an art gallery and sold practically every piece. It was a wonderful affirmation that he could produce marketable work.

Then we moved to Kelowna for my first job. There wasn't much there for him to do, but he joined the potter's guild and tried to re-capture the thrill and the drive he had had in Edmonton and on Savary. This was the first indication that he needed more than just a space, some clay and some glazes to be creative. He needed people, preferably supportive people, who had lots of ideas of their own. I couldn't help, since I was immersed in my job, so he tried to find like minded people at the guild. It was not a great success. As time wore on, Kelowna became like a prison, and by the end of the first year it was time to move on.

So, we moved back to Alberta, only this time to the south, where we were about to pursue another dream, ranching in the Porcupine Hills. It took some time for our house on Savary to sell to make it possible to could buy land, so we rented for a couple of years. I worked on a casual basis, spending my free time cheering him on, as he set up a small studio in our rental house. That was a pretty good year, but the house was too small. Then I started a full time job, and he rented a studio in town, where he was closer to where I worked, and had lots of artists dropping in to visit. That was a really good year. Then two things happened.

We were finally able to buy the land that would be our ranch. He worked like crazy to set up a house trailer, fences, out buildings, and so on. Then, crippling, unrelenting pain in his joints, and he was diagnosed with osteoarthritis. That was the start of fifteen years of hard work and agony,when pottery was put far on the back burner. Wheels, kiln, clay, tools, all were stored away for that someday when we could afford to build a studio and he would have the time to use it. Neither was about to happen as long as we stayed on the ranch.

The story of the years on the ranch would fill a book, but eventually we agreed we couldn't do it any more, and it was time to "retire". So, we sold the most beautiful piece of land we could ever hope to own, and moved again. We bought an acreage where the house and fences were already built, so we could finally focus on building the long dreamed of pottery studio.

Things did not get off to a great start. Used to going ahead and building what ever needed to be built without permits and inspectors, finding that he had to ask permission, have his work inspected, and deal with what he considered government interference and nonsense, put the first bit of tarnish on the shiny dream. Then he started worrying about how we could afford to finish and outfit the studio, and my flimsy reassurance that we would "find a way" didn't really help. More tarnish. Finally, he was in his studio, had all his equipment set up, and he was miserable.

Yep, he was miserable. After all those years of dreaming about having a place of his own to do what he loved to do, he was scared to do it. "What if the kiln doesn't work? Why can't I come up with good ideas? What happened to my good glaze recipes? Should I work on pottery or do chores around the place?" And on, and on...

And so, the Lonely Potter was born. The point of this blog is to follow the trials and tribulations of one man on his lonely quest to rediscover the joy of pottery. Never fear, he will get there, but for anyone who has experienced the angst of facing the unknown, this story will be both inspirational and familiar. You are welcome to join the journey.