The first Saturday of December, I enjoyed one of my childhood favorite spots to go: Doin’ Dishes. My family dropped me and a friend off to enjoy the sensation of pottery that I had waited so long for.
As soon as I stepped into the shop, I immediately noticed the comforting air that ensued upon me. A soft buzz of talking filled the room, with adults smiling at each other while children laughed as they got paint on their faces. There was a simple vibe of home.
On the left was a vast array of beautifully crafted ceramics. On the right was a brilliant mosaic of colors, ranging from deep black to sharp red.
As soon as I sat down at my assigned table, a worker near me asked me and my friend what we were thinking of making. Based on the reviews of the place, I had heard that it was great for making gifts and everyday materials. So, of course, I chose a mug. When I was asked to choose a palette of colors I liked, I had no place to start and looked at all the colors possible. One of the workers helpfully offered to give me a collection of well-liked color choices that were created based on the previous customers who had been there before.
After a couple of short minutes of waiting, I received a pale, neutral-colored palette with toned-down greens and browns, as if the colors were emitting words that described nature itself. I stared at the mug in front of me — don’t get me wrong, I love to draw, I love art, but painting? That could get messy.
As soon as the first paintbrush was dipped into color, the touch of the hard clay mug brought me to life. I lost myself in a world of color. I dreamt of the navy-blue sky, I imagined the soft leaves of a willow tree, and I heard the sweet call of a bird. I felt the paintbrush describe my thoughts, as it transcripted my feelings into colors that blended and twisted at every turn. I was lost in a world of art.
Around me, I could hear the hum of happy people, all seeming to be as pleased as I was. The sound of the paintbrush being washed as it tinked across the glass cup, and how the colors overlapped one another, imperfectly perfect.
I wasn’t in a rush to finish, of course, and I was done within an hour or two. The mug in front of me was once plain and boring when I had first started, but I looked at it now filled with the life that I had gifted upon it.
I suppose I wasn’t feeling very creative before, but my color palette inspired me to choose the topic that I wanted to draw. I had been sitting next to the store’s window, with the view of people walking by, smiling, and the trees hushing in the winter, the winter air whispering through each one of them. I remember that halfway when I was drawing, I spotted a red bird, contrasting on the black bench it was sitting on, eating crumbs off the ground. I remember that memory and was inspired, so I dabbled away the paint with a piece of cloth to make room for this red bird.
I was very pleased with the result. As people left, I got to see a peek at everyone else’s creations — a plate with family members’ names on it, a piggy bank shaped like a unicorn, a mural that fitted one’s picture.
I had asked one of the workers who assisted me what she thought made Doin’ Dishes so special. The worker, named Beth, answered, “I don’t think it’s the shop. I think that it’s the families that come here. We’re just planting the seed. Kinship is doing the rest of the work. I’ve seen things that could be hung up in a museum to things that looked like 5-year-old me drawing- but it was all the same. The families left smiling and satisfied.”
I took a moment to consider this, and it was true. It was the memories that were made here, and all the workers did was make sure it was enforced.
I left my mug, all ready to be hardened and baked in the kiln to a glossy crisp. As I left Doin’ Dishes, I continued to think about what Beth had said.
I had a really good time at Doin’ Dishes. Even though it was a small shop, it had a powerful impact on the people who chose to go there, including me. Overall, I strongly recommend going to Doin’ Dishes, especially with friends and family. It is very packed, especially on the weekends, and many times, people would have to leave if they didn’t have a reservation. My sisters had both gone to this small shop two weeks before and enjoyed it with their grandparents. I enjoyed it with my friends as well.
