On the other hand
Jul. 2nd, 2017 08:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
offcntrMost potters in the world (Japan excepted. Don't ask me why.) throw with the potter's wheel turning clockwise.
But I'm left-handed. I grew up in a world of Of course, that's if you're right-handed. Left-handers reverse these directions. So when I first started to throw, I kicked the wheel clockwise.
If the regular pottery professor had been teaching, or if Viterbo had had electric wheels, it might have been otherwise. Throwing is very ambidextrous, equally easy (or difficult. For me, more the latter) to learn turning either direction, and back then, few electric wheels had a reversing switch. But Tim was on sabbatical, Jan was occupied with teaching an unfamiliar class, and the studio was committed to Leach-style treadle wheels, so by the time anyone noticed, I'd gotten used to the direction I was throwing.
I continued throwing on kick-wheels, left-handed, after college, all through graduate school, and into my days at the Craft Center. I did teach myself to throw counter-clockwise as a teaching assistant in grad school, the better to do demos, but it never came as easily as clockwise.
Fast forward to my days with Slippery Bank Pottery. I was committed to making nine dozen hummingbird feeders as week, while continuing my teaching load. Kick-wheels weren't gonna make it.
I mentioned Japan earlier? For some cultural reason, right-handed potters throw clockwise there. Fortunately for me, the Craft Center had a Japanese-made electric wheel, an old Shimpo that nobody used much because the speed control was either a very stiff, inconveniently placed pedal, or the attached gearshift-style lever. It quickly became my wheel.
Wheels with reversing switches are more-or-less standard these days, so I guess I'm not the only lefty out there. I have two electric wheels now, a Pacifica with factory reverse and an old Soldner with a switch bodged in by the previous owner (who I once made hummingbird feeders for). But I still get the occasional confused look as I throw, from spectators who aren't quite sure what's different, but know something ain't right.
But I'm left-handed. I grew up in a world of Of course, that's if you're right-handed. Left-handers reverse these directions. So when I first started to throw, I kicked the wheel clockwise.
If the regular pottery professor had been teaching, or if Viterbo had had electric wheels, it might have been otherwise. Throwing is very ambidextrous, equally easy (or difficult. For me, more the latter) to learn turning either direction, and back then, few electric wheels had a reversing switch. But Tim was on sabbatical, Jan was occupied with teaching an unfamiliar class, and the studio was committed to Leach-style treadle wheels, so by the time anyone noticed, I'd gotten used to the direction I was throwing.
I continued throwing on kick-wheels, left-handed, after college, all through graduate school, and into my days at the Craft Center. I did teach myself to throw counter-clockwise as a teaching assistant in grad school, the better to do demos, but it never came as easily as clockwise.
Fast forward to my days with Slippery Bank Pottery. I was committed to making nine dozen hummingbird feeders as week, while continuing my teaching load. Kick-wheels weren't gonna make it.
I mentioned Japan earlier? For some cultural reason, right-handed potters throw clockwise there. Fortunately for me, the Craft Center had a Japanese-made electric wheel, an old Shimpo that nobody used much because the speed control was either a very stiff, inconveniently placed pedal, or the attached gearshift-style lever. It quickly became my wheel.
Wheels with reversing switches are more-or-less standard these days, so I guess I'm not the only lefty out there. I have two electric wheels now, a Pacifica with factory reverse and an old Soldner with a switch bodged in by the previous owner (who I once made hummingbird feeders for). But I still get the occasional confused look as I throw, from spectators who aren't quite sure what's different, but know something ain't right.