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When I first sat at a potter's wheel back in the 1980's, I felt like I was remembering how to throw clay rather than learning it. My hands knew what to do and within a few months, I was
selling pottery at the local farmer's market. For several years I did the craft fair circuit but no matter how much I loved clay, I was forced to admit that as a single woman working as a potter, earning
an adequate income was just too much work, and I became a nurse instead. Now, twenty years later, like so many other baby-boomer ClayArtists, I'm back.
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The folks at the right are members of an extended family called the Dimple People. The whole clan have dimples in their chins. The guy on the far right works as my kiln guardian. The tall
fellow in the middle lives in the garden and keeps things in order out there. The little lady lives in the house and often has flowers coming out of her head. They have family members in various parts of
the country.
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