The theft of feeling

That title sounds rather spiritual, but I am talking about simple, white air drying clay in actuality. I have come to slowly notice that making clay objects in the vacuum of my private inclinations and my blue striped bed sheets has relieved my puritanical guilt. I’m content making objects I don’t understand and which I don’t care if anyone else enjoys. I been making teeth (pendants), tiny tooth/tree like bowls, forest spirits from Princess Mononoke, vases and phallic objects that look like little deities.


Creating has ended up being the best way to alleviate my feelings of uselessness and being an underachiever. Centrelink keeps me alive, but does little to improve my self esteem. Reflecting on how well I did at school and Uni also doesn’t help. Finding fulfillment and income from writing alone has been disheartening and impossible.

At some point I started making clay absurdities and it was during that focus that I noticed I wasn’t thinking about how crap I felt or my feelings of failure (despite my proactive and determined efforts to follow my dreams). Working with clay also reminded me of how many people are successfully selling their art online and also create just because they love it. There is an endless frustrated relationship between making art and making a living, but settling into just making for a while has been therapeutic.