The Sound of Starting Over

When the studio doors finally reopened in 2020, masks covering our faces but unable to hide our relief at returning to our clay sanctuary, I discovered that everything had changed—including me. The "C" word was retreating into my past, COVID was beginning to loosen its grip on the world, and I was navigating the complex waters of divorce and single motherhood. My hands, when they touched clay again, seemed to know exactly what they wanted to create: rattles shaped like tennis balls, each one demanding intricate attention and offering irresistible tactile reward.

The shift from creatures and vessels to tennis ball rattles was as unexpected as it was complete. These weren't decorative objects meant to sit quietly on shelves—they were interactive pieces that demanded to be held, shaken, experienced. Each one was perfectly spherical, sized to fit comfortably in adult hands, and hollow enough to contain small clay pieces that would create sound when moved.

But the real magic happened in the surface work. I developed a sgraffito technique that allowed me to "reveal" each piece through painstaking carving. Hours upon hours were spent with fine tools, scratching away surface clay to expose the layers beneath, creating intricate patterns that emerged like archaeological discoveries. Each rattle became a meditation in patience, a exercise in revealing rather than adding.

Sgraffito, the Italian word meaning "to scratch," became my new language. Working with leather-hard clay, I would apply layers of different colored slips, then systematically carve through them to create complex designs. The tennis ball rattles provided the perfect canvas for this technique—their curved surfaces offered endless possibilities for pattern and texture.

The process was deliberately time-consuming. Each line had to be carved with intention; there was no erasing, no covering up mistakes. The clay surface recorded every gesture, every moment of confidence or hesitation. This slow, methodical work became a form of moving meditation that perfectly matched where I was in life—rebuilding carefully, revealing who I was becoming one careful mark at a time.

What I hadn't anticipated was the universal response these pieces would evoke. Without exception, every single person who encountered my tennis ball rattles had the same impulse: they had to pick them up and shake them. The familiar shape triggered an almost involuntary response—these looked like something that should make sound, and people couldn't resist confirming that they did.

Watching adults, teenagers, children, even elderly visitors to galleries where my work was displayed, all reach for the rattles with the same childlike curiosity became one of my greatest joys as an artist. The pieces created instant connection, bridging the gap between viewer and artwork in a way that purely visual pieces never could. They invited play, encouraged interaction, and brought smiles to faces in a way that felt like pure gift.

The gentle rattling sound that emerged from each piece carried meaning beyond its pleasant tone. These were hollow vessels that had found their voice, objects that had been through fire and emerged with something to say. In many ways, they reflected my own journey—I too had been hollowed out by experience and was discovering what sounds I could make as I moved through the world.

The clay pieces inside each rattle moved freely but were contained, much like the emotions and experiences I was learning to carry as a single mother starting over. They created music when shaken, but were silent when still—a reminder that sometimes we need movement, need change, need the willingness to make noise in order to create something beautiful.

The intensive nature of the sgraffito work perfectly matched this period of my life. Just as I was carefully carving out my new identity as a divorced woman, as a cancer survivor, as a single parent, I was literally carving patterns that revealed hidden layers in clay. Both processes required patience, precision, and faith that what lay beneath the surface was worth the effort to uncover.

Each rattle took weeks to complete. The initial forming, the careful drying, the application of slips, the hours of carving, the bisque firing, the glazing decisions, the final firing—every step required presence and commitment. This slow craft became my anchor during a time when everything else in life felt accelerated and uncertain.

Creating work that people couldn't resist touching represented a fundamental shift in my artistic philosophy. After years of making vessels that served function and creatures that brought visual delight, the rattles offered something different: immediate, physical engagement that transcended age and background. They were democratic in the truest sense—everyone understood them instantly and everyone wanted to experience them fully.

The tennis ball shape was key to this accessibility. Everyone has held a tennis ball, knows its weight and size, understands its invitation to play. By creating ceramic versions that maintained that familiar form while adding the surprise of sound and the beauty of intricate carving, I was creating objects that lived in the space between the familiar and the unexpected.

As 2020 progressed and I settled into my new life as a single mother with the "C" word firmly in my rearview mirror, these rattles became symbols of resilience and renewal. They were evidence that I could take something as simple as a sphere of clay and transform it through patient work into something that brought joy to others. They proved that starting over didn't mean starting from nothing—it meant taking what you know and finding new ways to make it sing.

The studio, with its masked makers and socially distanced wheels, had become a place of rebirth. In that familiar underground space where I had first processed diagnosis and loss, I was now creating objects that celebrated interaction, that invited play, that made beautiful sounds when moved through space. Like me, they had been through fire and emerged not just intact, but transformed into something that could bring music to the world.