Process
Following the form
Most pieces begin without a drawing. I start from an idea or a shape noticed somewhere, but only as a way into the work. It is enough to begin, but rarely enough to predict where the work will end. At some point, the original image becomes less important and the piece begins to establish its own direction.
I build by adding layers, one after another, without always knowing what they will become. As the piece grows, these accumulations may take on abstract, organic or geological forms. There is something deeply satisfying about feeling the plasticity of clay in my hands.
The repetition of simple gestures slows everything down and draws my attention to small changes. This is the most meditative part of the process.
The time between
Ceramics asks for a kind of patience I do not always have elsewhere. When the modelling is finished, the piece is still far from complete. It has to be left alone for weeks, while the water slowly leaves the clay. I return to it, look at it from a distance and resist the impulse to intervene. There is always anticipation, but also doubt. Time is one of the prices ceramics asks me to pay, and perhaps also one of its gifts. It creates a pause between what I intended and what the work may eventually become.
By the time the piece is ready for the kiln, it already feels slightly removed from me. I have had to let it go before knowing whether it will survive. That mixture of patience, uncertainty and expectation remains part of every work, even if it cannot be seen.
What the firing reveals
Before each firing, I have an idea of what the piece might become, but never a complete image. For a day, the work disappears from view, and all I can do is wait.
I often choose a glaze because I want to see what it will do, not because I already know the result. I could try to eliminate as much uncertainty as possible, but part of what keeps me interested in ceramics is leaving room for something I did not plan.
Opening the kiln is always charged with expectation. Sometimes the result is disappointing. Sometimes a colour deepens, a surface pools, a trace appears in exactly the right place. Those moments feel less like confirming an idea and more like discovering what the work has become.
