“I’ll Just Trim One More”

There’s a very specific lie we tell ourselves in the studio. It usually sounds quite responsible.

“I’ll just trim this one now so tomorrow I’m ahead.”

Just one bowl. Five minutes. A quick tidy of the wheel while I’m here. Maybe I’ll wipe the bats too. Oh, and that glaze has been on my list… I may as well mix it so it’s ready.

And suddenly it’s 8.47pm.

You’ve trimmed half the shelf, your shoulders are cooked, and you’re wondering how this escalated. Again.

Because tomorrow, in our minds, is going to feel lighter. More organised. Controlled. We’ll finally be “caught up”.

Except tomorrow rolls in with a kiln to unload, orders to pack, classes to prep, emails that arrived overnight, and twenty more noodle bowls sitting there at perfect leather hard, quietly judging you.

The list doesn’t shrink. It regenerates.

And here’s why.

My weeks already have a rhythm.

Monday is admin and glazing. Emails, wholesale, stock checks, dipping, wiping bases. It’s methodical. Slightly chaotic. Necessary.

Tuesday the kilns go on and I start throwing. The studio shifts energy. Clay everywhere. Head down. Production mode.

Wednesday is more throwing, hands deep in reclaim at some point, recycling clay because nothing gets wasted and somehow the reclaim bucket is always full again.

Thursday is trimming Tuesday’s work, unloading Tuesday’s kiln, sanding, photographing, adding pieces to stock. It’s satisfying. It’s dusty. It’s full circle.

Friday is trimming Wednesday’s work, more admin, prepping the studio so it’s welcoming and calm for weekend classes. Resetting the space so other people can walk in and feel inspired.

That’s the rhythm.

Throw.
Trim.
Fire.
Finish.
Reset.
Repeat.

The work moves through the week like a tide. It’s designed that way. It has to be.

When I try to “get ahead”, what I’m really trying to do is outrun the tide. But the tide doesn’t stop coming in because I stayed back late on a Wednesday trimming extra bowls.

There isn’t a finish line where everything is done and the studio is pristine and I get to exhale forever.

There is only the cycle.

And cycles aren’t meant to be beaten. They’re meant to be sustained.

Rhythm only works if there’s space between the beats. If Monday bleeds into Tuesday night and Wednesday stretches into exhaustion, the rhythm collapses. The work gets heavier. The joy thins out.

I’m slowly learning that the bowl can wait. The glaze can be mixed in the morning. The wheel can stay a little messy overnight. Nothing catastrophic happens if I stop.

Running a studio isn’t about catching up. It’s about staying in time with the work.

Tomorrow will have work in it no matter what.

So you may as well arrive rested.