I was born in the mid seventies and grew up in the age of the casserole. Which could have been a disaster except for the amazing hand thrown casserole dish my mom used. The dish was about 12 inches in diameter and about 5 inches tall. It was tan with blue accents, barrel handles and sturdy beyond belief. We bought the dish from a local potter after doing a tour of her garage studio. I was in Brownies and thought the studio, clay and art of the pot were the messiest most amazing art form there was. I knew one day I would throw pots. Flash forward about 30 years and I have thrown pots of my own.
I grew up on a horse farm in the dirt, shavings and muck of the horses. Your hands prove to be incredible tools – from washing horses to cleaning the intricate details of show tack to hand mixing bran mash at night for winter feedings. Over the years my hands have become my go to tools for everything I do – I love texture of all kinds. I feel connected to things thru touch – I don’t wear gardening gloves. Why miss out on the dirt massage?! And now my hands feel clay and shapes and textures. I feel tension washed away by the touch of the clay. I feel clay transformed into something of love, creativity and pure need.
I am a huge fan of utilitarian items, things I need every day. If I can’t use it, it doesn’t need to consume my space. I pass that into my pieces. If I can’t use a piece, why throw it. My pieces vary by day. I don’t try to make pairs or matches. Everyone is different and on any given day, one should be able to choose the bowl or the mug or plate that makes them smile.
What piece makes you happy today?
From my hands to your home with love,