How I Found Clay in My Travels

I never expected pottery to become such a big part of my life. For years, my travels were all about new cities, new foods, and the thrill of exploring the unknown. But during a trip to Morocco, I stumbled into a small pottery workshop tucked down an alley in Fez. I watched a local artisan shape clay on a spinning wheel, his hands moving with precision and care, and something clicked. The way he worked felt both meditative and alive, and I knew I wanted to try it for myself.

Back in Brooklyn, I signed up for a local pottery class. At first, it was just a way to keep experimenting, to occupy my hands and my mind in a different way than travel usually allowed. But soon, pottery became more than a hobby—it became a lens for creativity, mindfulness, and storytelling.

The Magic of Getting Your Hands Dirty

There’s something magical about working with clay. Unlike digital tools or remote work tasks, clay is tangible. It resists you when you’re not focused and responds when you are. Every pinch, every spin, every small adjustment shapes the final piece. I love that unpredictability. You plan and imagine, but the clay has its own voice, and learning to listen is part of the art.

Traveling with pottery in mind has taught me to notice things I might have overlooked. When I visit a new city, I’m not just looking at landmarks—I’m noticing textures, shapes, and colors that might inspire a new piece. A worn doorway in Lisbon, the curves of a street-side fountain in Rome, or the rough hands of a local artisan—all of it becomes material for my imagination.

Pottery as a Mindful Pause

One of the reasons pottery works so well for someone like me, who is often on the move, is that it forces stillness. Sitting at a wheel or shaping a piece by hand requires attention. It slows you down. Even when I’m in the middle of a hectic travel day, I try to find a workshop or a local studio where I can spend an hour or two shaping clay. Those moments are meditative—they ground me, and they make the chaos of travel feel manageable.

I’ve even started carrying a small sketchbook dedicated to clay ideas, jotting down shapes, patterns, and textures I see in the world around me. Sometimes those sketches evolve into pieces when I return to Brooklyn; other times, they’re just a record of observation. Either way, it keeps my creativity flowing, no matter where I am.

Bringing Pieces of the World Home

What I love most about pottery is how it allows me to bring my travels back home in a tangible way. Every piece I create in Brooklyn carries traces of the cities and cultures I’ve visited. I experiment with glazing techniques inspired by Morocco, shapes influenced by Greece, and textures I’ve noticed on market streets in Asia. When I hold a finished cup or bowl, it’s not just a functional object—it’s a story, a memory, and a keepsake all at once.

Sharing these pieces with friends is another joy. When someone holds a mug I shaped, I can tell them about the inspiration behind it—the market stall I saw in Marrakech, the artisan who taught me a technique in Thailand, or the long subway ride in Brooklyn where the idea first hit me. Pottery becomes a bridge, connecting my adventures to people around me.

Lessons Clay Has Taught Me

Working with clay has also taught me patience and resilience. Not every piece turns out as planned. Sometimes the wheel spins too fast, the clay collapses, or the glaze cracks during firing. Those failures are part of the process, and they’ve helped me accept imperfection—not just in pottery, but in life and travel too.

It’s also taught me to pay attention. In pottery, small changes make big differences. The slightest shift in pressure, angle, or moisture can completely alter the outcome. That attentiveness has spilled over into how I experience cities and cultures. I notice subtleties in conversation, light, architecture, and textures that I might have otherwise overlooked.

Brooklyn: A Home Base for Creativity

Being based in Brooklyn makes all of this possible. The city has incredible studios, pottery classes, and local artisans willing to share their craft. I can immerse myself in clay without ever leaving my neighborhood, while still letting my travels inspire the work. My apartment has become a little creative hub—tools, sketches, and finished pieces scattered across shelves, each telling a story from somewhere I’ve been.

Brooklyn also provides the perfect balance between community and solitude. I can attend a class or workshop to learn from others, but I also have quiet spaces at home where I can shape and reflect on my own. That balance mirrors what I’ve learned on the road: creativity thrives when there’s space for both observation and experimentation.

Pottery has added a new dimension to my life, both on the road and at home in Brooklyn. It’s a hobby that teaches patience, observation, and mindfulness, while also serving as a bridge between my travels and my everyday life. Each piece I create carries a memory, a lesson, or an inspiration from somewhere I’ve been.

Travel taught me to see the world, but clay taught me to slow down, touch it, and make it my own. For me, there’s no better way to honor both my journeys and my home base than by shaping the stories I collect into something tangible, lasting, and uniquely mine.