Background: When I was a little kiddo, my grandmother and mother used to drag me out all the time to one of those pottery painting studios that were super-popular in the 70s and early 80s. They’d gossip, Mamma would chain-smoke, and they’d spend hours painting hideous knick-knacks hideous colors, and I’d sit there next to them, bored out of my gourd.
Did they never give me anything of my own to paint because pottery painting was too expensive back then to waste on a little kid, or did I just have no interest in adding to our house’s already expansive collection of hand-painted ashtrays and vases? No clue, but I do know that the experience totally scarred me, because early in December, when my own little kiddos wanted to paint cat bowls as Christmas presents for their best friends, the cats, it was with much reluctance and hesitation and prior research that I walked them into our local hands-on pottery painting studio.
Next >> What I found inside shocked me.