Sometimes, the clay just collapses in on itself during a throw, no matter how many times you've centered it before. That's a lesson that keeps finding new ways to teach itself to me. There are seams in everything, points where the pressure is too much, where the material gives way. Knowing where those places are in myself—that's the real work, isn't it? To brace them, to yield where I must, to let the collapse happen and rebuild from the rubble. The crack always finds the flaw. It's tempting to hide it, to smooth it over, but the fire knows. Better to acknowledge the weakness, let the glaze pool there, a testament to where the stress was greatest, where the piece almost broke. That's where the beauty lives.