And the object we're putting so much work into is a rock. We're shaping clay to look like rocks, as though we don't have enough rocks in this world we have to make some more.
My instructor refuses to see the wisdom of this outlook.
Clay does not feel good when it dries on your hands. I had to drop everything and scrub them clean a dozen times during the three-hour session. Each time, I grew more reluctant to touch my work in progress, instead seeking out tools to protect me. They didn't work.
Currently weighing the various merits of discipline over simply dropping the class and never looking back.