I love my time creating.

Nothing else really matters when I'm in the studio with clay,
and when I'm not there,
really whatever else I'm doing,
what I'm thinking about is clay.
...what would that look like in clay? how many parts would it take to mould that? I'm gonna reshape that other piece, try that glaze, make one taller, smaller, thicker, sitting, longer...

and these words from transporting come to mind a lot

People think it's all about misery and desperation and death and all that shite, which is not to be ignored. But what they forget is the pleasure of it. Otherwise we wouldn't do it. After all, we're not fucking stupid. At least, we're not that fucking stupid. Take the best orgasm you ever had, multiply it by a thousand and you're still nowhere near it. When you're on junk you have only one worry: scoring. When you're off it you are suddenly obliged to worry about all sorts of other shite. Got no money: can't get pissed. Got money: drinking too much. Can't get a bird: no chance of a ride. Got a bird: too much hassle. You have to worry about bills, about food, about some football team that never fucking wins, about human relationships and all the things that really don't matter when you've got a sincere and truthful junk habit.

replace junk with art, or clay.
and I'm in...

“You have to worry about bills, about food, about some football team that never fucking wins, about human relationships and all the things that really don’t matter when you’ve got a sincere and truthful art habit.”