Hands-on By Brenda J. Buote, Globe Staff | December 10, 2006 With a spinning wheel and equal parts determination and talent, 15-year-old Kayla Bentas is able to transform an ordinary ball of clay and a dab of water into a functional work of art -- a bowl, a mug, or even a vase. "I love the way it feels, all smooth and wet, with graceful, gentle slopes," Kayla says of the clay she's molding into a bowl, her face beaming. At a nearby table, giggling elementary students examine their works in progress, nimbly running their fingers over the delicate figurines -- a girl with braided hair and a small lizard -- to find flaws. One child holds her creation to her left eye, eager to get a better idea of what it might look like. But even up close, she is able to see only light and shadow. The details elude her. These children are all legally blind. They must rely on texture and shape to mold their artistic vision, which several of them will share today when their work is displayed at the Cynthia Curtis Pottery holiday show. For a few of the students, the show offers a chance to peddle their wares and perhaps earn a little pocket money. Kayla's saving up every penny she nets for a Braille printer. Others are hoping to make enough money to buy a loved one a holiday treat. But for most, it's simply an opportunity to showcase their handiwork. Three times each year, Cynthia Curtis opens her glass studio, nestled in the woods of Rockport, to visually impaired youngsters, allowing them the chance to be creative and test the limits of their imagination. "Many of these kids have siblings who go to clubs or play sports, but they don't," says Julia Andrews, director of the Social Circuit program at the North Shore YMCA in Beverly that brings these youngsters together each week to tackle a new challenge. "This program is their thing," says Andrews, a certified orientation and mobility specialist. "The emphasis, really, is fun, but many of the activities -- like the pottery -- are also therapeutic, improving their motor skills and self-confidence." Most of the time, when the children want to create something -- even a simple card -- a person with sight has to help them, Andrews notes. If they write something in Braille, for example, someone else has to translate it for them. But with pottery, they're able to complete a project on their own. Curtis, a single mother with two children and a bachelor's degree in special education, has long recognized the therapeutic benefits of the potter's wheel. Over the years, her students have included an elderly woman in the early stages of Alzheimer's, an East Boston high school teacher looking to escape the stress of her day job, and two women with traumatic brain injuries. "It's so relaxing to be able to focus on the clay and forget about everything else," says Curtis, who offers weekly classes and private lessons to 60 students who range in ability and in age, from 7 years to 70. "It's magical, really. It gives people a sense of accomplishment, to see that they can create something with their own hands." For many students, even experienced potters, the creative process can be difficult. The slightest misstep is liable to cause the clay to fly off the wheel or collapse in a messy heap. But for those with disabilities, even the failures can prove invaluable. "Sometimes, because I'm numb on one side and stronger on the other, it's a challenge for me to make something," says Lisa Vincent, 43, of Rockport, who started taking pottery lessons at Curtis's studio three years ago, after suffering a stroke that affected her central nervous system, leaving her dizzy and in chronic pain. "Of every five things I make, four have to be done again, but still the process is gratifying," adds Vincent, who credits a friend she met at a local stroke support group with giving her the courage to try her hand at pottery. "It helped get me out of my depression, to feel like I could do something again." Encouraged by her progress at Curtis's studio, Vincent bought both a kiln and a potter's wheel and set them up in her basement. The former marketing executive has also started selling her pieces -- teapots and mugs -- at local craft fairs. "It started out as a diversion, but has become a passion," says Vincent. "One of the things I enjoy the most is sticking my hands into a big pot of clay. Working with the wheel allows me to channel my pain, to put it into something beautiful." For Deb Richardson, 59, the woman who advised Vincent to take up pottery, Curtis's studio offers a respite. The tranquil setting, the warmth of the kiln, even the aroma of the clay and glazes, set her mind at ease. "It's so peaceful there," says Richardson, who four years ago suffered two hemorrhagic strokes in a span of five days, forcing her to relearn how to walk, talk and feed herself. Like Vincent, Richardson is often dizzy and suffers chronic pain. "When the kiln is on, the studio is very cozy. And I love the smell of the clay; it reminds me of the smell of mud at a river's edge. It allows me to block out everything else." Richardson, who also lives in Rockport, just 4 miles from the studio, says working with clay also improves her coordination and cognitive abilities. "I find it helps me integrate the right and left sides of my body, to get them to work together," says Richardson, who shuns the potter's wheel and prefers to pinch the clay into shape. "The strokes left me with central pain syndrome, which triggers sensory issues. The feeling of the clay desensitizes me to touch, to heat, to cold, to wet, even to changes in the barometric pressure." Like Vincent and several of the blind children in the YMCA program, Richardson has included some of her work in Curtis's holiday show. Her hope is that the inclusion of her ceramic trays will help others understand the healing power of art. "I'm not in it to make money," Richardson says with a laugh when she is asked how much she'll charge for her work. "I'm in it for the rehab, because it restores my soul." Brenda J. Buote may be reached at bbuote@globe.com.
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