🌿 Age is Just a Number: Lessons from the Clay Studio!

One of the great privileges of being both an artist and an educator is discovering how creativity can flourish in unexpected places. Teaching ceramics at the community college has been one of those profound experiences for me. It is not only a role where I feel valued and supported, but also one that continually reshapes my perspective on what it means to learn, to create, and to share.

From the very beginning, the department made it clear that they trusted me — giving me a generous budget for supplies and encouraging me to take on special projects with my students. That level of support is rare and deeply motivating. It allows me to introduce new materials, design lessons that stretch beyond the basics, and cultivate an atmosphere where experimentation is not only allowed but celebrated. It’s a reminder that when institutions invest in both their instructors and their students, the entire community benefits.

What truly makes this experience special, however, are the students themselves. Many are older adults, some recently retired, and others at different stages of life where they finally have the time to pursue something new. They bring a wealth of stories, perspectives, and wisdom into the classroom — more than any syllabus could ever provide.

The students create incredible work. They bring in their own expertise and creativity into each project we take on. Some walk in claiming that they have no creativity, while others keep making beyond class time, practicing on their own with quiet determination. No matter their starting point, they end up surprising themselves with what they produce. That joy of discovery — of seeing their own hands shape something they didn’t think was possible — is one of the most rewarding parts of teaching.

Some of them also have life stories that inspire me by example. They come to class each day full of hope and a genuine desire to make something beautiful. In my Thursday class, one student, Marion, offered to cover all the tables with plastic and stay to clean up with me. She smiled and said, “We don’t have anything to do. We are retired!” These small moments of generosity and humor remind me how much community exists in the studio.

I’ve even started thinking about drawing portraits of my students as tokens of thanks — a way of honoring the spirit they bring into class. Each face, each gesture, each clay piece they create feels like a story worth remembering.

In the clay studio, I see more than bowls, mugs, or textured houses being shaped. I see community forming, I see resilience, and I see proof that art is a lifelong journey. Teaching here affirms something I carry into my own practice: age is just a number, and creativity is timeless.