Don’t Mind the Mess
If you ever visit my studio, those will probably be the first words out of my mouth.
Not because I’m embarrassed by it.
It’s just that when I’m making pottery, things tend to spread out a little bit.
And fair warning...
Once you’re inside, there’s a good chance you’ll be here a while.
Before you know I’ll be pulling pieces off shelves, opening the kiln, pointing out little details on a bowl and saying, “Oh! You have to see this.”
I just can’t seem to help myself.
Most days I sit down at the wheel with a lump of clay not knowing what I’m going to make.
It’s true. I don’t usually begin with a plan.
I just start throwing.
As the clay starts to take shape, I pay attention.
Will it be a mug? A bowl? A vase?
The decision grows out of what’s happening in my hands.
I know that probably sounds a little backwards.
But that’s the way I love to work.
And then there’s glazing.
Can I tell you a little secret?
I think I make pots just so I have something to glaze.
Now, don’t get me wrong - I enjoy throwing. I love the feel of the clay in my hands and watching a piece take shape.
But glazing?
That’s where I completely lose track of time.
It’s where I get to play.
I love experimenting with different combinations and seeing what happens when they meet in the kiln.
Opening the kiln never gets old.
It’s another chance to pay attention.
Sometimes it’s exactly what I imagined.
Sometimes it’s completely different.
And once in a while, I see a glaze combination so beautiful and unexpected that I know I may never be able to make it happen quite the same way again.
There’s something magical about that.
Honestly. I was terrible.
I laughed my way through my first classes because it was so obvious I had no idea what I was doing.
So I kept practicing.
Mostly pulling up walls.
They collapsed.
Folded in on themselves.
Wobbled.
I glazed them anyway.
I wasn’t very good at pottery when I started.
And then something unexpected happened.
People started choosing the ones I almost didn’t put out.
The wonky planter.
The bowl that wasn’t quite round.
The pieces I thought they would walk right past.
That changed me.
Pottery has a funny way of reminding you that perfect isn’t always the most interesting.
It taught me to pay attention to character instead of perfection.
To see possibility instead of flaws.
To trust that someone else might see beauty where I almost missed it.
When I’m not making pottery…
You’ll probably find me noticing details somewhere else.
A hummingbird in the garden.
Fresh strawberries in June.
The way sunlight dances on the lake.
Colours in a winter sky.
The intricate pattern of lace.
Little details most people walk right past.
I take far too many photos of the sky over the lake - all year long.
Partly because the colours are so beautiful I can’t stand it.
Later, I’ll find myself studying them, wondering how I could capture those colours in glaze.
I suppose that’s just how my brain works.
I’m always noticing.
Always wondering.
Always asking,
“What would happen if...”
Still Warm
Every now and then I send a little note from the studio.
Not on a schedule.
Just when something catches my attention and I think, “You’d enjoy this.”
If you’d like to keep hanging out with me, fill in the details below. I’d love to send the next one your way.
No pressure.
When you know, you know.