The wheel doesn’t seek perfect symmetry—it seeks presence

People often think that working on the wheel is about making perfect pieces. Symmetrical. Flawless.
But those of us who live the process from the inside know there’s something else at play—something less about form, and more about the gesture.

When I sit at the wheel, I’m not chasing a perfectly matched line. I’m trying to be there.
Fully present. Fully in my body.

Because the wheel, more than a tool, is an extension of your inner rhythm.
It gives back what your hands carry... and also what’s in your mind.
If there’s tension, the clay shows it. If you rush, it slips.
But if you’re present, if you listen, the shape reveals itself.

It doesn’t have to be perfect. It has to have soul.
And that can’t be measured with a ruler.

The pieces that move me most aren’t the ones that came out “just right.”
They’re the ones holding a real moment inside—
A slow afternoon. A steady breath. A quiet state with no mask.

Maybe that’s why certain forms repeat, but never truly match.
Because they’re not supposed to.
Because the wheel doesn’t seek perfect symmetry. It seeks presence.