The studio smells of earth and possibility. Shelves line the walls, holding works in progress: mugs waiting for handles, bowls drying slowly, plates stamped with botanical imprints. At the center, four pottery wheels sit like meditation altars, and at one of them, hands wet with slip, works local potter and teacher Sarah Blackwood.

Sarah opened Riverbend Pottery three years ago in a former manufacturing space along the Muskingum River. The exposed brick and high ceilings create an atmosphere both industrial and intimate. 'I wanted a place where people could slow down,' she explains, centering a lump of clay with practiced ease. 'Where making something with your hands mattered more than how fast you could scroll.'

Pottery is having a renaissance. After decades of being relegated to hobby status, ceramics are experiencing renewed appreciation. Young people tired of digital everything are discovering the profound satisfaction of creating functional objects. There's something deeply human about shaping clay—we've been doing it for 20,000 years.

Sarah's classes attract an unlikely mix: retired teachers, stressed professionals, college students, tradespeople. What unites them is the desire to create something tangible. 'In my normal job, everything is virtual,' says student Marcus Chen, a software developer from Parkersburg. 'Here, I make a bowl. I can hold it. Put soup in it. Give it to someone. It's real.'

The process demands presence. Clay immediately reveals your state of mind. Anxious? The pot wobbles. Distracted? It collapses. Trying too hard? It fights you. But when you're centered, calm, and attentive, something magical happens—your hands and the clay become partners in creation.

Working with clay teaches you presence. The moment you lose focus, the pot collapses. It's meditation in motion. —  Elena Martinez, Potter

Beyond individual work, the studio has become an unexpected community hub. Tuesday night open studios draw regular crowds who work side-by-side, sharing techniques and stories. Monthly wood-firing events become celebrations, with members staying late into the night tending the kiln, watching temperatures rise, witnessing transformation.

'I came for pottery and found my people,' says longtime member Jennifer Park. 'We've celebrated birthdays here, mourned losses, shared meals. The clay brought us together, but it's the community that keeps us coming back.'

Sarah offers classes for all levels, from complete beginners to advanced throwers refining technique. She also hosts visiting artists, turning the studio into an educational hub for the region. Next month features a Japanese pottery master teaching traditional raku firing techniques.

The work produced here isn't precious gallery art—it's intentionally functional. Coffee mugs, dinner plates, serving bowls. Objects designed for daily use that carry the mark of their maker. 'Every time you drink from a handmade mug,' Sarah notes, 'you're connected to the person who made it. That matters in our disconnected world.'