Why pottery painting studios are so inviting to those who swear they’re terrible at art.
I would be a wealthy man if I had a pound for every time I asked a friend if they wanted to draw, only for them to reply with a sorrowful “no – I’m awful at art”. It is an almost pleading response, as if I would spew if they made anything less than Monet’s Water Lilies.
Imagine my surprise, then, when I was approached by those same friends who had sworn to me that they would rather die than touch any arts and crafts equipment, suddenly accosting me with photos of hand painted plates and mugs. I was bemused – but put it down to the trends du jour, and paid it no more attention.
A few weeks later, a friend of mine approached me and asked if I would like to try some pottery painting, and the next day we boarded the train to the Southside to try our hands at it. I made a mug – that is, of myself. My mug looked as if it had been painted by an arthritic t-rex. Le Creuset, it was not. Nonetheless, I walked out of the studio feeling more refreshed than I had felt in a long time.
Right away, I knew why people were so keen to try pottery painting. We all need a creative outlet, but picking up a pencil or a paintbrush is intimidating. We do not like to risk embarrassing ourselves, and making art is something deeply personal. Even something as seemingly prosaic as a simple pattern or sketch is an attempt to reify some special memories or deeper values that we hold dear – even if we do not realise it. I may paint in purple because it is one of my Nan’s favourite things (alongside Dirty Dancing and Snoop Dogg). Alternatively, I may paint flowers as a way of subverting hegemonic masculinity. Art is an expression of the messy, multifarious beings that we are. And we do not wish to openly express our loves, desires, emotions and pains, just to be made to feel silly for bungling the execution and creating something lop-sided. This in itself invalidates the aspects of our identity we were trying to reify. In the film Napoleon Dynamite, the eponymous protagonist, a lackadaisical teen, asks his high school crush to the prom by drawing a portrait of her (see below). Although the portrait is terrifying – to put it mildly – one cannot help but feel devastated for Napoleon when he is humiliated. He made himself vulnerable, even if foolishly, and was slapped down.
Picking up a mug and a paintbrush is a different ball game: painting patterns onto a small item of crockery is far easier. There is physically no space for any ornate drawings. It is a far simpler exercise with less room for error, so carries far less expectation than, say, portrait drawing, which, in its very nature, demands a degree of grandiosity. Realist portraits in particular are typically judged based on how much they resemble the likeness of the subject; however, to capture this often requires mastery of challenging techniques in order to capture the vast minutiae they possess. On the other hand, you will not be getting any minutiae onto the mug’s awkward shape – unless you are an octopus. As such, pottery painting facilitates creative expression with little time commitment and no frantic googling of techniques, and creates something tangible. To put it simply, pottery painting allows amateur artists to feel the “I made that!” feeling without the “I can’t do that!” feeling.
As a keen amateur myself, I hope that feeling sparks people to try doodling, painting, origami, colouring in, calligraphy, knitting, crocheting or any other art, alone or with friends. Making art with friends will make you laugh, it will help you relax and it will give you more things in common. Pottery painting is fun, but it certainly is not cheap. Doodling t-rexes with a friend is.
Image Credit: Vadym Buinov Getty Images through Prima
