Splat! The clay slides down the wall, gathering on the floor. Now standing over the disheveled, segregated pieces of clay, the Potter picks up each piece of His broken creation, lovingly placing them on His wheel. No matter how much the clay protests, His patient hands guided into the perfect shape. Slowly the wheel spins again and the separate pieces come together into one.
Faster the wheel spins with the clay forming in the Potter's hands. Round and round the clay goes and where it stops, only the Potter knows. His hands gently mold it into what He wills. He curves the top into a spout. He makes the base wide, the neck narrower than either of its ends. As the wheel accelerates, the moist clay begins to separate again until parts fly off of the vessel. Of its own will, the clay vessel splits and its constituents slam against the wall once again. Without one word or sound, the Potter again gathers the clay to Himself and shapes it.
At every turn the clay vase resists the guiding hands. It pushes against the Master's leading fingers and desires its own shape. The vase fights for its own way. Even though it is his creation, it cannot see what he's making it to be. It has a limited perspective whereas he sees it completely and it knows it better than it knows itself.
All it sees of itself is brokenness and uselessness. The vessel doesn't think it will ever amount to much. As far as it is concerned, it is worthless. The Master tries with everything in him to show it what it could be. It only sees what's in front of it. Every once in a while, the vase catches glimpses of the Master's vision for it.
After He has hollows out the inside to hold its maximum amount, he continues shaping the outside, producing with His glorious hands a completely unique but beautifully united piece of work. He works best from the inside out. The vessel created to hold the oil now has become a testament to all of its contents. Its beautiful and magnificent edifice cries out, "See the art in me."