Making a Potters Wheel (on the cheap)
I saw a post online about making a potters' wheel with a kick-mop bucket, and thought I'd give it a whirl (har har) (groan). So I bought this here mop bucket at Canadian Tire for $35.
and then I cut a disk of wood and glued it on to the spinning part.
And then, well, that's about it! We're in business!
I've had some experience with a wheel before, included in the half-year of pottery lessons that I took years ago. The main thing I remember is that it's not easy. And that centering the material is the first and most essential thing to learn, because if the clay isn't centred nothing is going to work when it starts to spin. It's a great lesson when—even when you know it's futile—you go against this fundamental point by trying to adjust and correct your misshapen blob, and of course it doesn't work. (And why do you insist on trying when you know that it won't work? Is it because you think you might just be able to beat the Law of the Wheel this one time? Or is it because you're a fool? Or is it because deep-down you're a rebel? Maybe something of all three? What is the fine line separating the rebel from the fool? But I digress..)
With wheel work, as in other things in life, the starting conditions are paramount. It's a simple, clear and satisfying principle.
Now, working with this particular wheel is not easy. For one, you're bent over quite a bit, and the action of the spin is not as good as an electrical one, or even a foot-powered one with a large, heavy wheel with more inertia. So it's hard to know if my difficulties with this wheel are because in fact any experience with a wheel is difficult. Or if it's because the design of this wheel makes it inherently more difficult to work on. I suspect it's both (whaddya want for $35?), but whether or not the intrinsic limitations of this design can be sufficiently overcome is the question.
A question that will only be answered with more practice.
And if in the end it doesn't work, it will still have been a fun way to spend $35.
and then I cut a disk of wood and glued it on to the spinning part.
And then, well, that's about it! We're in business!
 |
| Not moving. |
 |
| Moving! |
I've had some experience with a wheel before, included in the half-year of pottery lessons that I took years ago. The main thing I remember is that it's not easy. And that centering the material is the first and most essential thing to learn, because if the clay isn't centred nothing is going to work when it starts to spin. It's a great lesson when—even when you know it's futile—you go against this fundamental point by trying to adjust and correct your misshapen blob, and of course it doesn't work. (And why do you insist on trying when you know that it won't work? Is it because you think you might just be able to beat the Law of the Wheel this one time? Or is it because you're a fool? Or is it because deep-down you're a rebel? Maybe something of all three? What is the fine line separating the rebel from the fool? But I digress..)
With wheel work, as in other things in life, the starting conditions are paramount. It's a simple, clear and satisfying principle.
Now, working with this particular wheel is not easy. For one, you're bent over quite a bit, and the action of the spin is not as good as an electrical one, or even a foot-powered one with a large, heavy wheel with more inertia. So it's hard to know if my difficulties with this wheel are because in fact any experience with a wheel is difficult. Or if it's because the design of this wheel makes it inherently more difficult to work on. I suspect it's both (whaddya want for $35?), but whether or not the intrinsic limitations of this design can be sufficiently overcome is the question.
A question that will only be answered with more practice.
 |
| Two round-ish vessels from the first test drive. |
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