I'm just about to go go downstairs and start throwing pots. I've been throwing for about 15 years now and it has become one of those activities like making tea that are just inherently soothing.
Throwing and I have a history, I've thrown in all different houses from Paddington in Brisbane to St Albans in England. I threw when I was but a girl , before I travelled overseas. I threw as my body changed and I waxed enormous during two pregnancies and now I throw when I'm talking to Fizzy D or thinking "I must get upstairs to feed Sweet Pea" I love having physical mastery over my materials ( although I never take it for granted, the clay can still surprise me). I was always hopeless at ball games throughout my childhood and the physical side of handling clay is a constant pleasure.
From the moment I sat at the wheel and made a wonky , thick pot I was hooked on this activity, I hope I'm still throwing when I'm 80, and have stringy old arms and long grey plaits.
(The nest jugs are showing at Salmon Galleries in McMahons Point, Sydney)