Husband has access to clay and his favorite game to play is Let's Get Lena to Make Something. But I don't have an artistic bone in my. Crafty? Yes. Painty, drawy, doodly, sculpty? No.
The previous week, he took Kidlette to throw some clay on the wheel and, in her words, make pott-er-ree.
I just can't tell if she's having fun or not.
No, I don't think she likes it.
It's just so dang messy. Ugh!
A week later and he asked me again if I wanted to do pot-er-ree and I finally relented. I figured I would try it out and just add it to my list. But then I started to get excited. Hoo doggie I decided I'd make myself a damn mug. And so he taught me how to shape it and then his fateful words were "you won't be able to make anything [taller] than a tuna can on your first try."
Challenge fucking accepted.
Ahem. I'm a great listener and I can work pretty damned good with my hands. I'm also kind of competitive. He went off doing his own things and I'd ask questions here and there and get back to doing.
Look! It's not an unidentifiable art class junk project!
After it dried, I put a handle on it then we fired it.
Then I glazed it and fired it again.
And while I was at work, Husband picked it up and was thrilled for me.
I mean look at this shit. I have made my own vessel that I can actually use. You're so damned jealous. I just know it.
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