It Took All Eleven Bells
I set out to make clay bells for a series of wind chimes. I had an idea and crafted a pattern. I began. Eleven bells later, I produced what I had imagined.
How? I just began. I changed the pattern. I made them thinner. I waited. My hands became gentler and knew the clay. I kept on working, practicing.
Was the eleventh bell the best for real or just imagined?
What about the one that fell on the ground or the two that stuck to the kiln shelves?
All had possibility and value. Not one was a mistake. I changed along the way.
It took all eleven bells.