Thinking pacifically

In a society geared toward constant motion and evolution, focus often gets lost in the narrative. 

I’ve learned to shape my personal narrative the way I shape clay: through something both reinventive and formative. Like pottery, success requires focus. To succeed in art, an artist must have a vision for their work. I’m a multifaceted person, but I used to forget to slow down when creating. 

That changed when I tapped into my internal metronome: my breath. I’ve found when I use meditation and breathing in my art process, it enhances my work and gives it a deeper meaning.

From a young age, meditation and breathwork were prevalent in my life. My father was a yoga teacher and taught me how to meditate. He meditates every morning to align himself for the day ahead. I knew meditation was important, but I couldn’t muster the energy or motivation to take the time out of my day to just be. 

I felt pressure to meditate from my father and teachers. In elementary school, minutes of mindfulness were built into our day, as teachers were required to encourage us to take time for ourselves.

Although mindfulness and meditation were themes of my childhood, I wasn’t very pacific. As a child, I was messy, loud and disruptive. I wasn’t artistic either. I got into trouble a lot, mainly because I never thought before I spoke.

Over time, I realized holding my tongue could open more doors, but I still needed a way to communicate and express my feelings. I found that outlet in pottery.

Ceramics and clay drew me in because of the messy process and endless possibilities. I needed pottery as a release, and it fueled something in me I never knew I had. However, I couldn’t quite identify what it was. As a beginner potter in high school, I was murky, like the water in a bucket after a throwing session.

Pottery has a steep learning curve, and a well-made piece is the result of time spent thinking, creating and choosing. Failure is part of the process, and it’s poetic in a way. When I began, I didn’t understand the care that went into creating sculptures, and I moved too quickly. I wasn’t focused on the goal.

Nothing in my art changed until I relearned how to control my breath.

In addition to learning how to move forward with big emotions, I revisited foundational breathing patterns I’d dismissed from childhood. Still, my breathing felt more like snoring. I wasn’t just struggling in the studio — I was struggling mentally and personally.

As a creative, I struggle to express my feelings and talk about the past. I prefer to look ahead, so when I faced personal challenges, I chose a coach instead of a therapist. I told him I wanted to incorporate breathing techniques into my art practice, and he encouraged me to try.

During my junior year of high school, instead of queuing a Grateful Dead show like usual, I unplugged the speaker and closed my eyes.

I raised a five-pound piece of clay over my head and slammed it onto the bat. As aggressive as it sounds, I felt calm. With my eyes still closed, I dipped my hands in warm water, cupped my left hand around the clay and locked my right hand over the mound. I took a full, deep breath and held it for six seconds before a two-second exhale. 

I pressed my foot onto the pedal and felt the clay slowly form into the shape I wanted. I kept that same six-to-two-breathing pattern as I centered, opened, pulled the walls and defined the rim of a bowl. 

The piece wasn’t perfect, but I didn’t expect it to be. Still, it meant more to me than the lazily made 10-pound bowls with thick rims and uneven bases. For the first time, I’d connected personal growth to my art practice. I never would’ve thought that turning off one sense and looking inward at my breathing patterns could physically change the clay.

When I’m sitting on the stool, clay in my hands and the wheel spinning, I feel like I’m in another world. Pottery is an escape.

Thinking pacifically has changed how I approach art, and I try to apply that mindset to other aspects of my life. Slowing down is something I still need to work on, but with pottery I feel confident in my growth. It’s as if my pieces have life in them, formed by the rhythm of my own breath.