Hi, it's Chai.
Here are some comments people first starting ceramics often say about this art.
"It helps me embrace flaws and imperfections"
"It forces me to let go and not try to control every step along the way"
"I learned to be patient with myself as I refined my skills"
Indeed, I learned early on in pottery that if I was too attached to a piece turning out a certain way, I would inevitably be disappointed. Glaze can run or react in unpredictable ways, clay can warp, handles can crack and detach...the list of "things that can go wrong" is endless because there are so many steps from a lump of clay, to the final product. On the other hand, if you remain open to the possibilities and flexible with your vision of the make, then sometimes you make the best of an unexpected situation. Almost every beginner potter has that bowl a little chopstick holder that is actually a rip in the rim that they just "leaned into", thus turning the bug into the feature.
On the other end of the spectrum of potters, master ceramicists have have made an art of embracing imperfections. Wabi Sabi is a Japanese philosophy that emphasizes the beauty in all things ephemeral, imperfect and incomplete. Pottery that has a wabi sabi aesthetic can often have lopsided, uneven silhouettes, glaze brushed or splashed on freely and loosely, or other features that seem imprecise, organic, and, really, kind of random. If you Google wabi sabi pottery, kintsugi will indefinitely pop up. Kintsugi is the art of mending cracked or shattered pottery with resin and gold. My Modern Met offers some other examples of wabi sabi ceramic art in this blog entry.
While I do not draw specifically from wabi sabi pieces, I have had a number of "happy accidents" in the studio that resulted in pieces that I'm proud of, and would not have thought of to make intentionally. One time, I was quite flattered to have a fellow hobby potter admire one of my weird pieces, and ask me "Where do you get inspiration for your pieces?". My truthful answer was - I don't, I just try something out, mess up, and then find creative ways conceal or compensate for the mistake! It's only more recently that I have actually started with a concept that informs a design that dictates the making process.
Spot the "Happy Accidents
Although I don't explicitly reference wabi sabi style ceramics, I have made a number of pieces that really brought me that free-spirited sense of serendipity and surprise. Can you guess their "failures" and "imperfections"?
Desert Rose Lidded Jar
This was one of my first attempts at making a jar and fitted lid separately. Since it was for practice, I made it with recycled clay. While I love recycled clay for many reasons (e.g. it has lighter clays mixed in and can take on lighter glazes, it has grog from speckled buff and is thus sturdier, it has some softness from the red clay that makes it easier to shape), the one downfall is that if there are two different clays in it that aren't wedged or blended together well, it is prone to cracking. So that's mishap #1 - it has a crack right threw the lid! I hope to fix that with Kintsugi some day.
Mishap #2 was, I went a bit too far trimming the mid section of the jar on the inside, so I had to fortify it with the applique flower buds on the outside to prevent it from buckling!
The blossom on the inside of the lid is a feature I add to all my jars, and was also borne from a mistake. My earlier jars sometimes had stress cracks in the inside (that is why you must compress the clay well!) so I would add a flower, starfish or some other surprise inside to cover that up. In this case it did not work because the crack went all the way through, but I kept up this tradition all the same:)
Upside down/Frilly Vase
This was one of my earlier vases, and it came out lopsided on top, with the profile slanting more steeply on one side than the other. This resulted in my first foray into more sculptural elements, where I added irregular frills to the vase. Cover up the unintended asymmetry with more intended asymmetry, so to speak. Recently, I attended a gold luster workshop and added some bling to accentuate the frills and slip I'd used to texture the bottom section. This was definitely an Ugly Duckling turned Swan among my pieces.
Cascade Serving Bowl
Bowls are, in my opinion, one of the hardest forms to make well. This was one of my earlier failed attempts at making a perfectly concentric bowl. One side of the bowl stuck out further, so I altered that wider section of the rim into frills, and then poured different glazes down those "chutes" or ridges, with clear glaze to showcase the gritty recycled clay. The result reminds me a bit of four streams of varying pristine-ness vs pollution running into a barren valley. The ridges also make good places to lean your serving spoon. I have no idea how to throw a lop-sided bowl to replicate this design, perhaps the only way to reproduce it is through hand-building.
Perfect Imperfections Beyond the Studio
Pottery has given me a new lens to look at life outside the studio. In real life, there can be many mishaps, detours and accidents too, often with more far-reaching consequences than a wobbly vase or chipped mug. One of these in my life is my hearing loss. In my last blog entry, I brought my work (psychology) and play (clay) together in a discussion of mindful making. This time, I would like to bring my ability and disability together, and reflect on the perfect imperfection of my hearing loss.
Different people prefer different names for their disability, I use the term"hearing loss", because it captures my story succinctly: I started losing my hearing sometime in my late teens and early adulthood, progressing steadily from being able to lip-read and compensate so well I didn't know I had a mild-to-moderate hearing loss, to getting my first pair of StarKey hearing aids to help me hear sounds above 1000 Hz, to now requiring cochlear implants in both ears to go about my daily life. I continue to lose my hearing now, albeit on a less dramatic trajectory.
I have a hearing "loss", not just because I continue to lose sensitivity to sounds that most humans can (between 20 to 20,000 Hz), I also lost experiences (like being able to talk in large groups at loud parties), conveniences (like being able to understand intercom announcements at airports, or sit down at theatre performances knowing I will catch all the lines and lyrics effortlessly and not be exhausted at the end of 2 hours), and, most importantly, the loss of a whole self-identity I had constructed around being a fully hearing person (how do you continue to be a confident, outspoken, and funny social butterfly if you can't even keep up with the conversation and are just pretending to laugh at punch lines you don't hear?). Katherine Bouton's memoir, Shouting Won't Help, gave me language to understand my feelings around hearing loss - I was not just grieving my lost hearing, I was also mourning important parts of my identity the faded with the sounds, and often rejecting of this new version of me.
So, yes, my hearing loss is very much a loss for me. However, it also comes with gains. As a ceramicist who is still learning and making many mistakes, I try to embrace, rather than resist, the bumps and ruts along the way. As a school psychologist, I often discuss the benefits of gratitude with my students, and practice seeing the silver lining with them.
Of course, it's important to steer clear of toxic positivity and twisting a valid and difficult experience into rainbows and unicorns. Instead, I try to use more of a "yes, and" lens borrowed from improv comedy - holding the positives and negatives together without trying to weight them against each other. Much like I help my students list their strengths of their neurodivergence or disabilities alongside the needs, I challenged myself to write up a list of "gains" from my hearing loss:
Timing, timing, timing
While nobody wants to lose their hearing, I find that the timing of my hearing loss was quite serendipitous. When I first discovered my hearing loss, I was not in. a place where hearing technology was easily available, and I had to buy a mediocre pair of hearing aids out of pocket. A cochlear implant, which costs $30, 000-$50, 000 USD on average, would not have been an expenditure I could afford at the time. As my hearing loss worsened, I finished grad school and started my first job with good health insurance coverage. At the time of my worsening hearing, the criteria to qualify for hearing loss also changed to allow people to receive implants based on their rate of worsening hearing, and not just their absolute level of functioning. So, I was able to get hearing loss while my brain still remembered how to process some of those sounds my ears can no longer detect, making for better outcomes after the cochlear implant. The fact that my hearing worsened enough to qualify for cochlear implants at that specific life stage, when I was in a place where my treatment would be offered at low cost to me, is a beautiful coincidence I will forever be grateful for.
Tech, tech, tech!
I always joke with my hearing friends "if you ever want a hearing loss, now's the time to get one!" because the assistive technology is developing faster than EVER! Captioning apps on my phone for not just live conversations, but also Broadway performances! Bluetooth streaming from my cell phone, laptop, TV and other devices directly to CIs so the music goes literally straight to my head! Microphones that pick up my friend's voice in a noisy restaurant and even lets me eavesdrop on their conversations with other people when they forget to take it off! I could geek out in a whole separate post about all the gadgets that make my life easier, but suffice to say, one of the perks of being a CI-borg is definitely the gear:)
My instant oasis of peace and calm
You know what's neat about having all that technology to keep you connected? I can also DIS-connect by pulling those CIs rightoff. Whenever the world is too loud and I can't hear myself (psychologically, as well as literally), or if I need a pause in the middle of a heated argument, or if the background music is just not to my taste, I have the ultimate mute button. Instant peace and quiet!
Free laughs, at random moments
Since my hearing loss was progressive, my brain had plenty of time to hone skills to compensate for the information I was missing via my ears. With a hodgepodge of self-taught lip-reading skills and piecing together contextual cues, I managed to get by and not notice my own hearing loss until it reached moderate levels. Most of the time, it works well in conjunction with my hearing technology. However, other times I hear the darnedest things that crack me and the other person up. At my audiology check-ups, I'm sometimes given a test where I listen to random sentences with background noise - the only mistake I made a few months ago? I heard "He thought his wife was a liability" when in fact it was "He thought his LIFE was a liability". I have yet to consult my therapist on what that says about my subconscious attitude towards marriage, but it gave my audiologist and I something to chuckle about. Here are some more examples of humourous situations Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing folks sometimes find themselves in, recounted by the amazing comic, writer and activist Gael Hannan.
Meeting kind and inspiring individual along the way
I have been really lucky with all the extremely capable, supportive and warm professionals that have been part of my journey. My first audiologist and her graduate student who completed all sorts of testing and re-testing because my condition was so peculiar, and then sat down and patiently explained some possible causes and prognoses, to the audiologist who recommended me as a candidate for cochlear implants, to my current audiologist who takes such care into mapping my processors for the most comfortable hearing experience; to the two surgical teams that did my surgery, one gentle and caring, the other humorous and upbeat, both exactly what I needed on a first and second cochlear implant experience respectively. My friends that provided rides to and from the hospital or checked in with me at noisy events during those first days when such settings still evoked strong feelings of disconnection and grief. Coworkers who make sure to turn on close captioning and ask if they should remove their masks so I understand better. I would not have met any of these people, or seen such sensitive and supportive sides of them, without my hearing loss.
I cannot hear, so I have to listen
While hearing technology does reduce the cognitive demand of processing sounds and gleaning meaning for me, listening remains effortful and I still have to patch up any gaps in my hearing with nonverbal cues. I cannot listen half-heartedly, I have to give it my 110%. To me, being fully present and mindful in the conversation is not a choice, it's a necessity, and when you work as a school psychologist, that is a definite plus. A student can say they had an "ok" week, and the quiver in their voice may suggest otherwise. Picking up the hesitant tone of a parent accepting special education services for their child could open up a whole conversation about fears about their child's future and their personal experiences and understanding of disability. In this way, my dependence on nonverbal cues actually elevates the quality of my connections with people I serve. Since I never know how much my brain is filling in the gaps, and how much I'm actually picking up via my ears, brain and hearing technology, I often try to check my understanding while conversing with people. I summarize, I paraphrase, I reflect, I verify that I received the message the other person wanted to convey. Those are actually counseling techniques that shows you are actively listening and makes the other person feel more heard! I just depend on them as much as the person confiding in. me does.
A Window into Disability
Recently, a colleague of mine pointed out that there is a disparity or disconnect between struggling students, and we who support them. Many educators go into this field precisely because they liked school as a student. The very fact that we earned the credentials to work in schools attest to our ability to "do school". I definitely fall into that camp of well-behaved, studious, bespectacled middle-class nerd that had relatively smooth sailing through an education system that has a narrow definition of success, and is not the most inclusive of differences. That is not how I would describe many students I cross paths with in my work. Hearing loss gives me a whole new perspective on my students' experiences. When I encourage students to understand their own needs and self-advocate for the accommodations they need, I am learning to do the same myself. When my students experience ambivalence or shame about their differences, I can truly say "I know it's hard, there are days when you'll be ok with this part of you, and days when you'll wish it were different, it's going to take time, but I'm right here with you on good days and bad." Of course, every journey is unique and I do not claim to understand everything every child goes through, but it does give me a window to empathize through. For instance, I am not autistic, but I know what it feels like to linger on the fringes of a group, wanting to fit in but not really following the rapid changes in topic or the humor because of my hearing loss. I do not have Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder, but I have felt overwhelmed when a teacher gives rapid-fire verbal instructions while moving around the room and showing slides that don't correspond with what they are saying at the moment. My hearing loss gives me more compassion and patience for my students, and that becomes a reminder to also have more compassion and patience for myself. I am fairly open with my disability with my students, families and school community. My hearing loss has granted me an opportunity to raise awareness of differently-able people and demonstrate how we too can reach our goals and contribute to society. During Inclusive Schools Week one year, I did a show-and-tell of my hearing devices and explained different modes of communication used by deaf and hard-of-hearing people during morning assembly. I hope the students who wear hearing devices will become less self-conscious by seeing adults like them. When I conduct assessments with students, I often remind them that I may ask them to speak up, enunciate, or repeat to help me capture all that they know. I hope it teaches them to be accommodating of people with different needs. When I meet families with hard-of-hearing children, I hope it offers them some reassurance that their child can also lead a fulfilled, independently life in the future.
Searching for Serendipity
I am no Zen master, and wish I was as good at accepting flaws and irregularities in my real life as I am when making pots. Yet, the psychology teaches us about (a) confirmation bias - we see what we look for, including the perfection in imperfections and (b) mindsets can be changed with intentional practice. So, I would like to end this blog entry by sharing some resources I will reference on this meandering, never-ending, wabi sabi journey to becoming more accepting of the muddiness and messiness that is life and clay:
Until next time, keep chai-ing:)
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