Pottery, Practice, and the Art of Being a Beginner

Repetition in action

In my yoga classes I often invite my students to keep a beginner's mind when approaching practice. The beginner's mind is simple; keep an open and curious perspective, without expectation for your journey. It asks that every time you practice, no matter how familiar you are with the shape, you try to take in the experience with a fresh perspective.

I've always felt that the beginner's mind is an interesting and beautiful concept. It's a lovely idea for us to continually come back to the curious, low-pressure approach of a beginner. But lately I'm finding a new appreciation for what it means to have a beginner's mind as I explore an entirely new skill off the mat: pottery.

I started a pottery class at the beginning of 2022, and it's been a  powerful lesson in what it means to be a true beginner. Instead of striving to keep a fresh, open perspective on pottery, I'm fully immersed in "beginnerhood," constantly navigating a space that's foreign and unknown. With such a strong example of what it really means to be a beginner, I've been reflecting a lot on how I view the beginner's mind, and what lessons I can carry forward into other areas of my life – and, of course, into my yoga practice. 

Learning to Be A Beginner

If there's one thing I've taken away from my pottery journey, it's that being a beginner means leaning into not knowing. At the start of my first class I was nervous and a little shy, feeling totally out of my depth and insecure about my lack of experience. But I pushed myself to ask lots of questions, to ask for help when I needed it, and to get to know my peers and instructor. In lessons, I was a human sponge; wide-eyed and amazed, I tried to soak up every word and technique that my teacher would share. This was a nerve-wracking experience, as I was constantly aware of how little I actually knew. But the more comfortable I became with the idea of "I know nothing", the easier it was to learn.

Without the pressure of pretending to be an expert, I was able to be authentic with my beginner status. And when I was honest with myself and others about how much I didn't know, I could make space for new information. It sounds obvious to me now, but for the first few classes I really struggled with accepting that I was, in fact, clueless about pottery.

I think there's a lesson there about our societal conditioning and modern adulthood. How often are we encouraged to try something totally new, and work through the experience of being absolutely and utterly in the dark?

I feel immense gratitude to this practice of pottery for reminding me how important it is not just to get out of my comfort zone, but to leap far away from it and lean into the unknown.

Parallels in yoga

Not surprisingly, my pottery journey has revealed many parallels to my yoga journey. In many ways, pottery has reminded me of the first days of my yoga practice. One of the first lessons pottery taught me was to ask for help, and accept help when given. I realize now that in those earliest days where I was trying to look cool and pretend I had some idea of how to make a mug, I closed myself off to outside suggestions. I didn't ask questions and I was hesitant to take advice. I simply settled down, grabbed a bit of clay, and hoped for the best.

All of that simply postponed my growth as a ceramicist. 

When I look back at my journey as a yoga practitioner, I realize I had a similar experience. When I first started yoga, my main priority was to try and survive a yoga class without falling on my face, passing out, or looking like too much of a newbie. I quietly set up at the back of the room, tried my best, and then left. That worked for awhile, as I absorbed lessons from my teacher by listening and practicing. But eventually I had to start asking questions, and when I did, my practice began to blossom. 

These days one of my favorite things to do is to stay after class, or reach out to a teacher outside of class to ask questions. And while it's sometimes challenging to ask questions in the middle of a group flow class, it's important to me as a teacher that my own students feel comfortable asking me questions. 

In addition, I recently noticed a subtle but important shift in my pottery practice; instead of going into the studio and trying to make something (anything) that resembled a finished piece, I started to get curious about making specific shapes. Lately my focus has been on crafting a simple mug of various shapes and sizes.

Now, it might sound like I'm starting to focus on being productive or on the result rather than the practice, but I don't see it that way. Instead, I feel that I've moved from open exploration to intentional practice.

This process of moving from exploration to intention is also present in the yoga room. While many of us start yoga because of a specific goal, the first few classes (or more) are really about getting comfortable on the yoga mat. In a foundational or fundamentals series, I liked to spend the first few classes teaching students the very basics of poses and instead focus on pacing, breath, and learning to regulate yourself through the more and less challenging parts of class. Before we can get to the minutiae of triangle pose and downward dog, we first need to figure out how to ground ourselves and hone the attention in class. Then, when students are comfortable on their mat and ready for more, we can get into the specifics of asana.

Finally, pottery has been a strong reminder that repetition is the key to learning. If I spend hours and hours trying to perfect the one perfect coffee mug, chances are I'll certainly learn something – but not nearly as much as I would learn if I try to iterate different mugs over that same amount of time. I see a clear parallel here to yoga and asana practice. The very nature of many asana methods, like Ashtanga and Iyengar, require the student to practice the same shape over and over again.

What we learn through this repetition is that every time we make the shape, there is a new insight we can discover. And if we make small changes to the way we practice a pose, say, using a prop one day and not using it the next, chances are we'll be able to learn something about how we're embodying the pose.

It's important to note here that no yoga pose – or coffee mug – is expected to be truly perfect, especially as a beginner. The idea isn't to achieve the pose and be done with it, but rather to continue exploring it and gleaning new insight through the process.

Revisiting the beginner's mind

Through my experience of being a true, real life beginner, I've been re-examining what it means to embrace a "beginner's mind", both in life and in my yoga practice. As a teacher, my hope is that speaking about the beginner's mind encourages my students to be curious and openminded about their practice. And as I move through the experience of actually being a beginner at pottery, I'm realizing that sometimes a beginner's mind can present its own challenges.

In my pottery sessions, I'm learning to release myself from any expectations regarding the product of my work. When I settle in at the pottery wheel, I certainly have ideas and intentions for my practice. But throwing pottery has been an immensely useful guide for practicing non-attachment, and recognizing that sometimes the thing I set out to do (e.g. make a mug) isn't actually the thing that needs to happen in that moment.

For example, I recently set aside time to practice throwing pottery on a weeknight. I say down at the wheel, stuck my clay at the center, and began. Almost immediately I could feel that something was different that session. Maybe the clay was a little tougher to work with than usual, or maybe my hands just weren't doing what I wanted them to. It didn't really matter what was different – the point is that it just wasn't the time for me to practice throwing new things. I spent a little time seeing what I could do with the clay I had on the wheel, but eventually I discarded the whole piece, cleaned up my spot, and switched gears to focus on glazing a few pieces that had been fired that week.

I absolutely could have forced the experience of making a mug, muscling my way through centering and shaping the clay. I might have ended up with a mug at the end of it, but would I have learned anything? In letting go of my expectation that I was going to make something, I ended up having a much more enjoyable (and equally educational) session with glazing.

This was a powerful reminder that having a beginner's mind isn't just about trying new things, or trying to find something new in each moment. Ultimately having a beginner's mind means showing up free of expectation, judgment, or a sense that you've already learned what you needed to learn.

Expectation, judgment, and perfectionism – all things that show up in both pottery and yoga – prevent us from having a beginner's mind. It means opening up to whatever lesson will come in that experience, and letting your experience unfold in a natural, organic way. And it means always inviting yourself to start fresh, no matter how many times you've practiced a thing.

As I embark on my second semester of pottery education, I expect there will be many more lessons to learn. And knowing me, many of these lessons will undoubtedly translate to my yoga practice, and my life off the mat.