“Stones are the bones of the earth, and clay is the connective tissue.”

-Paulus Berensohn
We went from sculpture to sculpture, each participant in turn commenting, the insights full of wisdom and humor. I observed, however, that Randi held back until she was last. From the hesitant comments, it appeared I was not the only one perplexed by her puzzling piece. At last Randi spoke.She told us of a position she had held, more than 25 years ago, as a hospital private investigator, on the lookout for, as she put it, “wrong-doing”. She had discovered an angry nurse killing babies in a neonatal clinic of the hospital. She rushed to the hospital administration, expecting them to call the police. Instead, a  long debate ensued among the hospital board members about how they ought to handle the situation without damaging the hospital’s reputation. While they debated, 20 more babies died. Quickly it became apparent that Randi’s sculpture was a graveyard for these babies!We huddled around Randi, sitting reverently until her tears subsided and then we cradled her in our arms for some time, until it seemed right to let go.For 25 years, Randi had kept this particularly devastating trauma a secret. She had told no one, not her husband, not her friends, not her therapists. It was the clay. together with the mythological ritual, that brought the memory to the surface to allow her to be healed.

It is not my intention to routinely dredge up this level of deep psychological release in the workshops I facilitate. It, however, happened and we had a special opportunity to work in true community to help someone through a difficult memory with deep human feeling. It was emotional connection at its finest. It is precisely because this experience was so transformational for me that I want to share it with a wide audience. Clay has the power to awaken us within the part of our mind that is throughout the body and connects us to experiences and memories inaccessible to daily cognition. Since this experience, my workshops have become even less focused on the acquisition of some new technique and more about using clay as a tool for self-discovery.

I believe that the greater parat of our malaise these days can be traced to our sense of disconnection. Clay is the material from which NASA scientists claim life on earth may have sprung. Because of the unique, plastic nature of clay, it has the potential to act as a catalyst. When joined with visualization exercises based on poetry, archetypal myths or personal experiences presented in a ritual format, clay can reconnect us with the natural world of which we are just a part. I am extremely committed to rediscovering the wisdom of the ancient teachings now being abandoned by our consumer-oriented culture. Creativity, part of our birthright, awakens our most atrophied sense, awe. As M.C. Richards once stated, “Beauty is that which is revealed.”

Thank you for reading.
Alan Steinberg 

The workshop began with a brief round of introductions after which the participants donned blindfolds and lined up single-file. With right hands on the shoulder of the person in front of them, off they trudged on a silent, imaginary, yet viscerally felt, journey though the darkening forest. Upon returning, they sat down, still blindfolded, and listened to the Greek tale of Theseus, who descended into the Cretan Labyrinth to meet the minotaur. The monotaur, half-man, half-bull and illegitimate spawn of King Mino’s wife and Poseiden’s prize bull, was hidden away in the deep caverns of the Labyrinth because of King Mino’s sense of shame. Once a year it was fed a youth, transported from conquered Athens, who was tossed into the Labyrinth to wander in the dark until he/she met his/her fate. This continued cyclically until Theseus, proud son of the Athenian King Aegeus, volunteered to brave the journey to Crete to slay the beast.

At this point, the participants, still blindfolded, were led to the beginning of a labyrinth created by the workshop staff. Crawling up and down carpeted stairways covered with wet, slimy leaves and unknown obstacles, each person experienced his/her private labyrinth though his/her body, through the sense of touch and smell. At the end, each was asked, “Are you ready to meet the Minotaur?” One at a time, each was helped to stand up against a plywood wall to face a head-sized round hole cut into the plywood. Finally, each removed his/her blindfold. There, looking though the hold into a large mirror, each participant saw his/her own face, framed by the reflection of the shaggy fun and horns of the minotaur that was painted on the back side of the plywood surrounding the cutout – recognition of his/her dark side, the monster within, as it were.

 

The next morning I led the participants on an eyes-shut visualization that mentally took them back down into the dark labyrinth. I asked them to recall the feel of the wet rock, the dank smell, the sound of dripping water. Upon returning to the here and now, they opened their eyes to a pile of 1,000 pounds of raw, wet clay before them. They were invited to make their monsters in silence. A half-hour of furious clay modeling ensued.

 

When the work stopped, we looked around at a wide variety of evocative monsters of all shapes and sizes. One participant named Randi (not her real name), however, had made a puzzling, very non-monster-like piece. It was a simple rectangular block about 8″ wide by 8″ deep by 3″ thick, with rows of smaller blocks across the top, 20 in all. I could not, for the life of me, see how it related to the theme of this workshop.

 

To allow open discussion about participants’ experiences during the workshop and to discover the meaning behind their pieces, I explained a sharing technique designed to keep judgement from the process. I had learned this in a dream workshop I once attended. Participants were invited to comment on the creations, using this phrase, “If this were my sculpture, I would see [blank] in it,” to begin their observations. Anyone could share his/her impressions about a piece, until, finally the person, whose work was under discussion could speak, reserving the right to focus on what resonated within his/her experience, and letting go of the rest.

 

Names have been changed to ensure confidentiality and permission to divulge information about the workshop was obtained from the affected parties.