A Love Letter

My final days in the studio at Millbrook.

Over the past two years I have struggled tremendously with my art, my mental health, and desire to fight through pain. The pandemic ripped my senior year in high school short, resulting in so much unfinished work and lost dreams. I wish I could say that I have been able to overcome this truncation of my art and continued to work, but in reality I have barely touched a wheel since I left school in spring of 2020. While I was able to go back to Millbrook and fire my final pieces, there was so much unfinished and unrealized work that I still feel the loss of it today. So, in an effort to stop lamenting the past and the forces outside of my control, I want to write this journal as a sort of love letter to my beginning as a ceramic artist, and my rekindling of it.

I cannot begin this piece without expressing my gratitude and love for my teacher, Shannon Harris. Shannon singlehandedly brought me into the studio and woke up my creative spirit through her compassion, kindness, and willingness to take risks. She challenged me at every turn, asking me to continue my growth as a person and as an artist with each project she introduced. Whether the project was plates as canvas, or creating handles, or simply learning how to let go and find my center, Shannon gave me a gift that I will never forget. Her willingness to push me, to ask me to look deeper into myself led to me finding a wealth of creativity and passion for this medium. She never doubted me, never let me give up on myself, and allowed me to find refuge in her studio. Millbrook was not easy for me - boarding schools very rarely make it easy - as they are rigorous, demanding, and sometimes soul crushing in their pursuit of excellence. Yet, every time I found myself downtrodden, missing home, or struggling with my depression, she gave me a space to express my pain in kindness and beauty. Her work is still something I aspire toward, her care and commitment to her craft showed me that even when we are feeling lost and stuck in a rut, art is by our sides as an outlet and a reminder of the beauty to be found in the world. She became one of my greatest mentors and friends, and this is a relationship I will cherish for the rest of my life. I would not be, and cannot imagine who I might be, without her.

So, it is with this in mind that I sit down and pen this journal - the first journal I have added in nearly two years. My passion for ceramic art, for wheel thrown art, has taken a beating. I think it is fair to say that the pandemic threw a wrench in everyone’s plans. For me, it meant not finding closure at the place that I discovered myself. Millbrook taught me how to lead, it taught me that I am worth more than I give myself credit for. I learned that my world cannot be centered around myself, cannot be consumed by my depression and anxiety. It taught me the value of alone time, as I spent more nights in the studio creating than I did studying (oops). The moments I spent alone in the studio, wrapped up in my work gave me clarity, centered me, and reminded me that I am working toward something that will fulfill me. Empathy, kindness, a knowing of those around me and learning from their stories were all intrinsic to this community, and while it certainly had its faults, I will forever be grateful for the chance to grow in such a place. When I came to Millbrook, I was desperately fleeing a home of domestic violence, substance abuse, and trauma. It’s almost a miracle that I managed to even get in, considering I was truant from school my seventh and eighth grade years. When I interviewed, I spent two hours with Jon Downs (then head of admissions and now current headmaster), telling him every bit of myself that I could. By his expert judge of character and compassion, he saw in me something that I still struggle with today - he saw my potential. From there I began the long walk of learning how to learn, learning how to be a student, how to be an educator, how to be a listener. I was given student leadership my junior year and senior year, where I learned that helping others allows me to feel connected to myself. I learned that I am an artist, that I am woman, that I am someone with potential to make waves in this world if I give myself the chance to.

When the pandemic hit, I found myself back in my old home with my family who had changed, but not nearly as much as I had. I struggled to understand my reality, my family and the shared pain we all had. These two years of pandemic life have muddied the waters for me, I do not feel a sense of purpose and drive like I did when I was at school. College is a struggle for me, studying and being engaged takes all my effort now. My depression often feels like it has a choke hold on me and creative spirit feels like it was smashed. I find myself clawing to hold onto who I was, the feeling of knowing my own skin and my own fire.

This is why I write this journal, in an effort to remember who I am, what I can do, and what my potential can create. I refuse to give up my spirit to my mental illness, I refuse to stay down and let it trample me. While I am not the girl that I was two years ago, I still feel her in me. Growth is painful, nothing worth doing in life is easy. I have a gift, one that I never even considered I would have when I was younger. I can translate the beauty of the natural world into pieces that will last a thousand years, and I cannot let it fade to the background any longer. While this is a love letter to Shannon, Millbrook, and my art, it is also a love letter to myself. I am still learning (and probably will be learning this lesson forever) on how to love myself. When I find that I feel less than, when I feel unworthy and I am unkind to myself, I simply need to look at this site to remember my potential. The girl that left Millbrook for Spring Break of 2020 may be gone so to speak, but her potential and power are not. My world is greater than my mentality, my world lies in my hands and their ability to mould wet dirt into something fantastic. I simply need to begin again.

And my beginning starts now.

Sangria