I have always loved working in clay. My first memory of it was making a lady wizard in second grade and being praised by my teacher for it. I always felt like it was something I could make mine, and do all day every day 365 days a year.
As I have gotten older, a voice inside of my head has grown louder and louder with so many excuses as to why I could never be an artist full time. I go back and forth, but clay is constant. Clay is always there waiting for me to get back to it.
When I get back to it, I wonder why I ever left. Hmm…why did I?
