IN BUSINESS Potter Finds Her Dream Clad in Clay + Social Worker Markets Healing Power of Masks By Margaret Webb Pressler Washington Post Staff Writer Monday, March 19, 2001; Page E07 If Meredith McEver had grown up thinking she was creative like her sisters and her mother, who were all artists, she might have made a different choice in her life. She might have followed her dream of becoming a potter and never have gone to school to become a social worker. Instead, McEver spent 25 years longing to make pottery while pursuing a social work career. She rose to the senior ranks of Fairfax County government, where she ran the county's child protective services program. But a little more than four years ago, McEver found she could no longer ignore the clay. At 44, she quit her job and began making pottery full time. "Doing something creative, it was like I was living my life," McEver said from the sunny studio behind her small, 112-year-old Arlington house. "I wasn't living some kind of role." But if McEver exalted in following her dream, she soon discovered that dreams can be a little unrealistic. As a sole proprietor, there was simply no way McEver could turn out enough pottery plates and fountains to make the kind of living she envisioned. And there was little joy, it turned out, in making hundreds of the exact same brie bakers week after week. "Thousands," she corrects. "You have to make thousands." Determined not to fail, McEver's only choice was to change her business model. For many entrepreneurs, as for McEver, the first plan is often not the successful plan -- take, for example, the many dot-coms that are scrambling now for a way to make money. The entrepreneurs who make it are the ones who are adept enough, or maybe scared enough, to ditch the old plan and find a new one that works. McEver reached into her old career for inspiration. Through her connections with Fairfax County, last year McEver began offering occasional pottery workshops and classes for troubled children, families, cancer patients and others. She incorporates meditation, self-reflection, discussion and, of course, clay. They have been both popular and profitable, and they have given McEver's business new life. This year, she expects to have sales of about $100,000. "Is this failure? Am I giving up on my dream? No. My dream got bigger," she said. There must be thousands of workers around Washington who harbor a deep desire, secret or not, to ditch everything and pursue a passion -- to run an inn, to paint, or maybe to teach. Most, shackled by insecurity, or at least by monthly mortgage payments, never do. For years, McEver lived like that, torn between her career and her desire to make pottery. "I was just really drawn to clay," she says. "I loved the way it made me feel. . . . Everything melted away and nothing else mattered than throwing that pot." At her county job, she says, it became a running joke that she was going to quit someday to be a potter. Friends told her they would give her the money to do it if they won the lottery. But those lucky numbers never came, so McEver tried to find her own way out. In the early 1990s, she started making pottery in her free time and regularly sold her work at local craft shows. But it was a grind. "You can't do pottery part time," she said. "People don't realize how much time it takes." In 1995, McEver took a four-month leave from her job to work with clay full time. She calculated how much pottery she would need to produce to make a comparable living, and she thought she could do it. For those four months "all I did was work," she says, but even so, it was a struggle. She went to one craft show and made $19, though it was at the show that she discovered brie bakers were a best-seller. At the end, McEver went back to county government, to a different job, somewhat dispirited. She loved her new job -- lobbying to make a particular child abuse law more effective -- so it wasn't as hard as she thought it would be to put the pottery behind her. After two years, though, McEver was reassigned to an administrative position for another program, with a staff and secretaries and all the responsibilities that go along with that. "I didn't want another job with people working for me," she recalled. McEver made lists of the best things and the worst things that could happen to her in either job, working for the county or running a pottery business. There were obvious downsides to both, but the "best things" list was the clincher: The best thing that could happen in her county job -- to be successful as a boss -- was not something she wanted. So she quit. "I'm not a risk-taker," she said. "It's surprising to me looking back that it wasn't scarier." Teaching pottery classes tided McEver over in the beginning. Then she began to build a stable of clients -- shops, galleries and Fresh Fields sold her pottery for a while. (The chain's Annapolis store still does.) When the pottery fountain craze hit, McEver sold as many burbling oases as she could make. By the end of 1999, McEver could barely keep up with demand. But pushed by her ambition, she continued to expand her distribution -- always trying to make more money, always making one more pot. Finally it hit her: She was working like a maniac, not really enjoying it and making only a moderate living. "I had taken this dream job that I loved doing and turned it into exactly what I did before," she said. "I was making tons of fountains because I was motivated by money like everyone else." To step back, McEver began making clay masks of her own face early last year. She had always loved masks and she found the process of sculpting her own face in clay to be revelatory. Her faces came out looking the way she felt, she said, which was a surprising emotional release. McEver's background in social work made her see the therapeutic value this process might have for others, so she pitched an idea to her old employer to teach a variety of clay workshops for groups as therapy. The county said yes. Her classes, including a "healing box" class in which students make boxes out of clay to reflect their feelings, were immediately popular and of value to the students. One cancer patient told McEver she was finally able to face her death by making her mask. Troubled children, too, McEver said, could express themselves with clay the way they couldn't verbally. The county continues to order more workshops, which cost $65 to $140 a person, depending on the type and the number of sessions. Privately, McEver is creating more therapeutic-pottery classes, always starting by leading her students in meditation. Since she left her county job, McEver's business has grown slowly but steadily. Now, she expects it will take off since the workshops, which she puts on mostly in her studio several times a month, are far more profitable and productive hour-for-hour. Two-thirds of McEver's sales still come from selling pottery, but her goal is to reduce that to 20 percent. "My goal before was to make a living off of my pottery," she says. "Now my goal is to make a living off the workshops. I think I can do better financially." After struggling most of her adult life between social work and pottery, McEver found the answer. "I have a compelling desire to do both," she said.

The Washington Post

IN BUSINESS

Potter Finds Her Dream Clad in Clay

Social Worker Markets Healing Power of Masks

By Margaret Webb Pressler

Washington Post Staff Writer Monday, March 19, 2001; Page E07

If Meredith McEver had grown up thinking she was creative like her sisters and her mother,

who were all artists, she might have made a different choice in her life. She might have followed

her dream of becoming a potter and never have gone to school to become a social worker.

Instead, McEver spent 25 years longing to make pottery while pursuing a social work career.

She rose to the senior ranks of Fairfax County government, where she ran the county's child

protective services program.

But a little more than four years ago, McEver found she could no longer ignore the clay. At 44,

she quit her job and began making pottery full time.

"Doing something creative, it was like I was living my life," McEver said from the sunny studio

behind her small, 112-year-old Arlington house. "I wasn't living some kind of role."

But if McEver exalted in following her dream, she soon discovered that dreams can be a little

unrealistic. As a sole proprietor, there was simply no way McEver could turn out enough pottery

plates and fountains to make the kind of living she envisioned. And there was little joy, it turned

out, in making hundreds of the exact same brie bakers week after week.

"Thousands," she corrects. "You have to make thousands."

Determined not to fail, McEver's only choice was to change her business model. For many

entrepreneurs, as for McEver, the first plan is often not the successful plan -- take, for example,

the many dot-coms that are scrambling now for a way to make money. The entrepreneurs who

make it are the ones who are adept enough, or maybe scared enough, to ditch the old plan and

find a new one that works.

McEver reached into her old career for inspiration. Through her connections with Fairfax

County, last year McEver began offering occasional pottery workshops and classes for troubled

children, families, cancer patients and others. She incorporates meditation, self-reflection,

discussion and, of course, clay. They have been both popular and profitable, and they have

given McEver's business new life. This year, she expects to have sales of about $100,000.

"Is this failure? Am I giving up on my dream? No. My dream got bigger," she said.

There must be thousands of workers around Washington who harbor a deep desire, secret or

not, to ditch everything and pursue a passion -- to run an inn, to paint, or maybe to teach. Most,

shackled by insecurity, or at least by monthly mortgage payments, never do.

For years, McEver lived like that, torn between her career and her desire to make pottery.

"I was just really drawn to clay," she says. "I loved the way it made me feel. . . . Everything

melted away and nothing else mattered than throwing that pot."

At her county job, she says, it became a running joke that she was going to quit someday to be

a potter. Friends told her they would give her the money to do it if they won the lottery. But those

lucky numbers never came, so McEver tried to find her own way out.

In the early 1990s, she started making pottery in her free time and regularly sold her work at

local craft shows. But it was a grind. "You can't do pottery part time," she said. "People don't

realize how much time it takes."

In 1995, McEver took a four-month leave from her job to work with clay full time. She calculated

how much pottery she would need to produce to make a comparable living, and she thought she

could do it.

For those four months "all I did was work," she says, but even so, it was a struggle. She went to

one craft show and made $19, though it was at the show that she discovered brie bakers were a

best-seller.

At the end, McEver went back to county government, to a different job, somewhat dispirited.

She loved her new job -- lobbying to make a particular child abuse law more effective -- so it

wasn't as hard as she thought it would be to put the pottery behind her.

After two years, though, McEver was reassigned to an administrative position for another

program, with a staff and secretaries and all the responsibilities that go along with that. "I didn't

want another job with people working for me," she recalled.

McEver made lists of the best things and the worst things that could happen to her in either job,

working for the county or running a pottery business. There were obvious downsides to both,

but the "best things" list was the clincher: The best thing that could happen in her county job --

to be successful as a boss -- was not something she wanted.

So she quit. "I'm not a risk-taker," she said. "It's surprising to me looking back that it wasn't

scarier."

Teaching pottery classes tided McEver over in the beginning. Then she began to build a stable

of clients -- shops, galleries and Fresh Fields sold her pottery for a while. (The chain's Annapolis

store still does.) When the pottery fountain craze hit, McEver sold as many burbling oases as

she could make.

By the end of 1999, McEver could barely keep up with demand. But pushed by her ambition,

she continued to expand her distribution -- always trying to make more money, always making

one more pot.

Finally it hit her: She was working like a maniac, not really enjoying it and making only a

moderate living.

"I had taken this dream job that I loved doing and turned it into exactly what I did before," she

said. "I was making tons of fountains because I was motivated by money like everyone else."

To step back, McEver began making clay masks of her own face early last year. She had

always loved masks and she found the process of sculpting her own face in clay to be

revelatory. Her faces came out looking the way she felt, she said, which was a surprising

emotional release.

McEver's background in social work made her see the therapeutic value this process might

have for others, so she pitched an idea to her old employer to teach a variety of clay workshops

for groups as therapy. The county said yes.

Her classes, including a "healing box" class in which students make boxes out of clay to reflect

their feelings, were immediately popular and of value to the students. One cancer patient told

McEver she was finally able to face her death by making her mask. Troubled children, too,

McEver said, could express themselves with clay the way they couldn't verbally.

The county continues to order more workshops, which cost $65 to $140 a person, depending on

the type and the number of sessions. Privately, McEver is creating more therapeutic-pottery

classes, always starting by leading her students in meditation.

Since she left her county job, McEver's business has grown slowly but steadily. Now, she

expects it will take off since the workshops, which she puts on mostly in her studio several times

a month, are far more profitable and productive hour-for-hour. Two-thirds of McEver's sales still

come from selling pottery, but her goal is to reduce that to 20 percent.

"My goal before was to make a living off of my pottery," she says. "Now my goal is to make a

living off the workshops. I think I can do better financially."

After struggling most of her adult life between social work and pottery, McEver found the

answer.

"I have a compelling desire to do both," she said.