Apprentices of the Mud

From ancient kilns to our ceramic studio in Abbotsford, pottery apprenticeships shape hands and hearts — one clay class at a time.

There’s something sacred about learning with your hands.

In ancient Greece, potters had apprenticeships where students swept floors for months before touching clay. In Japan, assistants learned to wedge clay for years before approaching the wheel. In West African pottery traditions, mothers passed knowledge down to daughters silently — by feel.

These were more than just lessons. They were ceramic rituals, born of time, repetition, and touch.

At Mayfield Studios in Abbotsford, our structure is looser — but the spirit remains the same. Students come to our beginner pottery classes with sleeves rolled and curiosity open. Some have never touched clay before. Others are returning, their hands remembering more than their heads.

Learning pottery can be humbling. The wheel resists. Coils collapse. But clay is patient — and it rewards patience in return.

This winter, our introductory classes are full, and Clay Counterpoint with Nicholas Hannah continues to grow. Students shape, slump, rebuild. Laughter and silence cycle through the room like breath.

Every pot, every collapse, every curve — it's all part of the story.

In a world that moves fast, teaching ceramics this way feels like resistance. Every coiled bowl or heavy mug is a line in a longer poem.

We call them students. But really, they are all apprentices of the mud.