I'm an intuitive learner. Which means, I pick things up and can get fairly proficient in them...but there may be times when I can't explain to you how in the bloody hell I got there. 

More times than I would like to recall, I've received positive feedback on a result followed by a brief pause and quizzical expression that suggests, "you did it, but I have no clue HOW you did it."

This gets to be a problem in the art of debate. 

I've come to the swift conclusion that as much as I like to defend my stance, my inability to share a concrete learning path becomes a frustrating stumbling block in my communication with others. There's only so many times you can say, "because I just KNOW," before people begin to discredit your very credible opinion. So, my practice has become just knowing what I know without feeling especially pressed to justify it. You're either going to trust me and look at the end result...or, you're going to judge me because I might not have done it the way the textbook (or you) have deemed is accepted. 

My father is an artist. He is left-handed. In many, many ways - he is my inspiration and my blueprint for how I am wired. We speak to each other in images, and as a result, we virtually never confuse each other. Growing up, I watched my father process information, re-adjust it and then recreate it to suit his needs. He did it with design. He did it with work that required linear thinking. And whatever was excess, he tossed aside as the other fodder that maybe worked for others, but didn't do much to reasonably inspire him. I am very much my father's child. 

When working on a project, artistic or otherwise...I work better with hands-on application. With clay? I was and have been very much the same. I can listen to instruction and I can watch. But only to a point before I either slip off into the ethers of my own imagination or just dig my hands into my own clay and work it out for myself. My first instructor quickly grew a bit baffled with me. I'm left-handed. But I throw right-handed, with my wheel turning clockwise and I adjust my hand positions until form and practice feel natural to me. Watching her throw was lesson enough, but I didn't get anywhere until I translated what she did into a logic my hands could understand. 

I'm not sure my father knows how much of a jump start he gave me just by watching him study, create and teach. He gave me something schools, instructors and analytical thinkers never could. He gave me confidence in my ability to learn on my terms, in my own way. So when I'm in class and I'm watching a technique or process that simply does not "compute," I close my eyes, put my hands on the situation and I work it out on my terms. Sometimes in reverse. Sometimes in ways that is part mystery. But without fail. 

That's what I know. 

Thanks, Dad.