Yesterday (I guess it's really two days ago now), I had to go to school early, so I wandered around campus just looking around. I ended up over at the art building looking at all the ceramic things. Some pieces were still greenwear, some had just come out of the bisque, and some were waiting for the high fire. The musky scent of moist earth hung in the air.
God, I miss that place. I miss heading over there twice a week and sinking my hand into the hard lumps of mud. I miss slapping a ball of clay down of the wheel and feeling it slide between my fingers, gently pulling and pushing on it, letting the spin of the wheel give it a shape. I miss the splatters across my chest and stomach. Hell, I even miss some of the people I met there. I guess I just miss the whole experience. There were only two things that I didn't like about those clay classes: 1 The paper I had to write to get an A instead of a B. And 2 the bossy sculpture teacher who ruined my sculpture (but I think I covered that in what I'm calling "The Crazy-man E-mail").
Maybe next semester I'll be able to sink my hands into clay again, maybe.