"Seize The Clay!"

My mother used to joke when I was having a bad day. She would say, "Seize the clay!" I'm sure she got that ridiculously cheesy pun from a t-shirt or somewhere similar. However, it always made me laugh.

Even as a child, I always loved arts and crafts. I was never particularly good at sports or most outdoor activities. In elementary school, I remember rushing to Arts class everyday at the tender age of eleven. The teachers in the hallway would tell me to "Slow down, Dan!" but that never stopped me. Sometimes, if we arrived early, we would have to wait outside the classroom door. I was always first, arriving sometimes a bit sweaty or out of breath, but I was always tremendously excited. For the next 45 minutes would be the highlight of my day.

Even to this day, I still remember what my elementary school Arts classroom looked like. It had giant windows, always letting in the afternoon sun. There were pictures of all the great artists and painters - Vincent Van Gogh, Jackson Pollock, Pablo Picasso, Claude Monet, and the list continues. The tables and chairs were never clean, perpetually encrusted with art's magical creations.

I remember looking at Van Gogh's self-portrait every time I would enter and leave the classroom, thinking "That is how I am going to look when I am a grown up." My mother often reminded me of a dream she had when she met me as an adult. I had a beard, long wavy hair, and a silent resolve. It sounds pretentious now, but as a kid I saw myself in Van Gogh, as inspiration. He motivated me to push forward even when times were tough.

As a kid, times were often tough. When I was ten years-old, my father told me over the phone he didn't want to be my father anymore. I remember hanging up the landline and sauntering back to my room. My mother asked me how the conversation went. When I told her what my father had told me, I'll never forget her confused expression. My mother was a real estate broker, and she was typically very good at appearing professional. When she found that out, however, her facade chipped away like a piece of broken pottery. Around that time, my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. About a year or two later, my mother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. The same cancer that took the life of her mother.

I'll never forget my grandmother. When I was a toddler, she would often treat me like her own, even going as far as to call me "her son". My mother would often correct her, saying "Mom, Danny is my son, not yours." Then, after some time, when my grandmother got sick, my mom stopped correcting her. I always loved sitting on her lap. She loved watching Bob Ross. She owned this enormous glass cabinet, where she stored her personal art projects. She said they brought her peace. I'll never forget her telling me, "One day, I hope something similar brings you peace." She knew I experienced a lot of anxiety as a kid.

I was in the hospital a lot when I was young. I was diagnosed with hypertension, a cardiovascular condition where someone suffers from high blood pressure. I suffered from seizures, fainting spells, and blackout episodes. My mother was in the hospital a lot, too. Then, my mother and I both became sick with mold poisoning. We found out our house was plagued with mold, and our bodies did not react to that kindly. I ended up losing 30 pounds, often feeling so weak I could not walk down the stairs. I missed a lot of school, and I nearly had to repeat the same school year. If we didn't catch the mold infection in time, we might've both died.

So Arts class was my oasis. It was my home away from home. I developed a strong bond with my Arts teacher, Mrs. Howard. She reminded me so much of Professor Frizzle from Magic School Bus, with long red hair and an infectious personality. She would talk animatedly with her hands, which were perpetually caked with paint. She knew about my struggles at home, and always encouraged me with my art. I'll never forget when we molded our first stoneware. It was a very traditional pottery project, a large cup-sized object. As I started, I immediately became discouraged, as it did not form the shape I wanted. Mrs. Howard saw me, leaned over and kindly whispered, "Keep going. You think Van Gogh quit after the first try?"

I remembered the words my mother would jokingly tell me, "Seize the Clay"! So that's exactly what I did.

On my second try, I experienced a feeling that has stayed with me my entire life. I let go of the expectation that this shape meets the form I desired in my head. As I molded the shape, I simply felt the smooth clay edges in my hands. I moved the way I wanted the edges to move. I wasn't trying to aim for perfection, but I simply wanted to exist in the moment. The sounds of the classroom lowered to a silent hum. For that particular moment, my troubles at home disappeared. My feelings of sadness, of loneliness, of despair, they all vanished. They were replaced with a sense of calm, a sense of serenity, a sense of comfort. I was at peace.

I've been molding clay my entire life. As if my mother's dream came true, my beard is nearly always unkempt and my hair is often too wavy for me to control. Molding clay offers me moments of calmness amongst the often tumultuous molding of life. It reminds me to always live in the moment, because at any moment life can take away those that you hold dear.

I remember bringing my clay cup home the day it was finished. It wasn't perfect, but it was mine. My mother loved it. She placed it in our glass cabinet, very similar to the one my grandmother owned, where she displayed all of my art projects. It found a home next to other, similar ceramic structures. A disjointed plate. An oddly shaped tea kettle. An abnormally sized cup.

When I asked my mother where they came from, she said "Your grandmother." The beauty of art, at least to me, is how we can pass on something as simple as pottery to those we love. The objects we make hold indelible meaning. They aren't just ceramic plates or clay cups. They are family heirlooms. They are poignant reminders. They are an expression of life itself.

They exist to let us truly live, to let us mold away our pain and to always remind us, no matter how difficult life becomes, to seize the clay.