Plans, Inspections & Strategy from the Garage

This post is being typed from the garage. The car needed tires, an oil change, and an inspection—just another example of how the scaffolding of everyday life affects the pottery. While it’s true that pots can be made anywhere (cave walls are proof of that), a working vehicle certainly makes the whole operation easier. My goal is to drive this one for another year and avoid taking on a car payment, which has helped me focus funds into the studio instead.

There’s even a strategy to passing inspections. If you’ve driven older cars long enough, you know the game: patch what you can, get the minimum done, and hope you know someone who won’t be too picky. My father and uncles were artists in this department. It’s strange, but that kind of problem-solving—the welding, rivets, and Bondo—was maybe my first exposure to working with materials and fixing what’s broken. “Carring” is part of the craft now. Just let the service station coffee keep flowing.

Luck, Stock, and Skill-Building in the Storm

I’ve been lucky so far. Lucky that I still have time, energy, and resources to create. As markets react and economic uncertainty grows, I made the choice to invest in myself this year. I dropped my 401K contribution from 20% to 0% temporarily—not because I stopped believing in saving, but because paying down debt and reinvesting in Creek Road Pottery felt more urgent. The big paper factory I work for is doing fine, and our stock even went up on Liberation Day, which was unexpected.

Meanwhile, the pottery is stable. I’ve got a ton of clay ready to reclaim, 500 lbs more on standby, and all my raw glaze materials in stock. I don’t expect a big sales year—things are slow locally—but I’ll use this time to repair, test, train, and innovate. Just like in manufacturing, slow seasons are when we sharpen tools. It’s not glamorous work, but it’s the kind that makes everything else better. Maybe it’s time to shift focus toward online, or try a few new revenue experiments. Either way, this year’s a rebuild year. And that’s okay.

Right Intentions, Rough Execution

Good intentions without follow-through are expensive. I’ve been guilty of that lately—overtime at the big paper factory has eaten up more time than I expected. I had planned to take just a few extra days. Now I’m halfway through everything: the kiln, prep for an April show, even car repairs. But that’s the price of being a project-based person. Without deadlines and closures, things drift. I’ve started using my phone calendar to prompt me—little nudges that remind me to do just one thing to move forward.

As I learned from Seth Godin: Who’s it for? What’s it for? What change am I trying to make? These questions keep me grounded. The pottery doesn’t need to be rushed, but it does need a plan. So now I’m scheduling my time like I would at the factory. Creative work may not feel like manufacturing, but if I want results, I need to treat it with the same level of discipline. I’m hopeful that April brings both clarity and completion.



Night Shifts and Studio Grit

Tonight, I’m working night shift at the big paper factory. So far, the line’s running smoothly—though we don’t talk about that out loud. One glitch and everything changes. Pottery, in contrast, is quieter, but it also demands constant hands-on intervention. Everything is manual. Every move is on me. And yet, a bad day in the studio still beats a great day working someone else’s dream.

This month’s shaping up to be busy on both fronts. I’ve got show prep, overtime, and a whole mess of half-finished projects. You’d think after all these years I’d have a better system—but no. The challenge of balancing creative work and industrial work is ongoing. Maybe it’s not about balance at all. Maybe it’s just a long game I’m still learning how to play.

New Show Plans and Gold-Leaf Memories

Earlier today, before clocking in for night shift, I started sketching out plans for a new show in collaboration with a landscape painter. The forms are ones that have lived in my sketchbook for years—ideas that have waited patiently for their time. I’ll be making around 16–18 pieces: hybrid jars, part hand-built, part wheel-thrown, layered with texture from thin clay slabs.

Twenty years ago, I did similar work—tall huts and house forms with gold leaf inside. Maybe I’ll bring that detail back. A small gift for those who care enough to look inside. Starting this project gave me a lift. It reminded me that I’m still an artist, not just a worker. Some ideas are just waiting for you to catch up. This show might be the spark I’ve been needing.

Final Thought

I’ve been thinking more about the network effect—what I’m creating that people can tell others about. It’s not enough to make pots. I want to make stories worth sharing, objects that carry meaning beyond their use. To do that, I have to show up, even when it’s hard. I’ve got a whole sketchbook of ideas. Time to bring them to life.

Happy Potting!

Sincerely,

Alford Wayman
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