One of the steps in pottery throwing is to check the vessel’s base thickness. To do so, you’d have to use a needle to pierce through the base of the vessel, which would leave a tiny hole in its base. During my first wheel-throwing demonstration, my instructor, Alvin, did exactly that.
my first pottery lesson
When I first saw the hole, alarm bells went off in my mind. I couldn’t understand. How can you just pierce a hole through the vessel like that? What about the hole?
Alvin then applied a gentle pressure to the hole in the base… Somehow, it seemed to mend itself. For somebody accustomed to extensive rework processes for metal parts in Manufacturing, this was essentially magic. Literally, a touch of the finger. The wet clay moved beneath his finger, closing the tiny opening as though it had never been there.
It was the first time I understood a material not through a specification, but through how it yielded, resisted, and responded to touch.
highly simplified decision-making tree as an engineer
For years, materials had reached me as a specification. Material concerns are well defined in my line of work: quality assurance, regional availability, standardization and safety. These are clear metrics to work with, which can then be translated into decision criteria.
Contextually, decision-making for materials usually felt structured in manufacturing. Somehow, it’d always fit in a flow chart. And that had been my reality for years.
My job was usually to make a chosen material work reliably at scale, and not to decide why it had been chosen in the first place.
One year into my job, I dialed into a meeting for our new product line. You’d have Design, Engineering, Manufacturing, Service, Sales, Product Managers, etc. As the discussions trudged along, the technicalities and design of the new product were highlighted. One material was chosen for its thermal properties; another for durability and corrosion resistance at the customer site. This was probably my first insight into how these material decisions came to fruition — there are reasons beyond manufacturability, and these reasons matter too. It just depended on what function you are serving, and consequentially, affecting your decision making priorities.
For that, product design highlighted how materials are chosen. But personally, craft showed me what those choices feel like in my hands.
The wheel spins, the clay travels, the hands mold, and finally, the vessel takes shape. Some clays feel grainier and more structurally forgiving to me, which gave me a greater sense of control. Meanwhile, the softer and smoother clays are more responsive, which means that greater control (and potentially, skill) is required. Each clay asks for a different kind of attention. The material changes, and the maker has to adapt with it.
the intersection of function and feeling
It’s easy for me to defer to the functional aspect of materials any day. After all, engineers need to make things work — in this case, make things functional. Through craft, I am also beginning to notice how materials make me feel. It’s still raw, but it’s developing.
I’d like to think of it this way: what can this material do, and what does its presence make us feel? Essentially, the intersection of function and feeling (see above). The most interesting material decisions stem this overlap.
Just as I could pick wood for its sturdiness and stability, it could also be its intricate grains and oak hues that lend warmth to the room. Just as I could pick fabric for its light diffusion and drape around a form, it could also help lend some softness to a room filled with hard materials.
Material is not just a specification. It is both a functional and emotional choice. Function is a language that I know well, while feeling is one that I’m starting to learn.
