I came to this level of involvement with ceramics unexpectedly. Living in Lisbon,  staying in my friend’s son’s bedroom,  and after 3 months,  woke one morning with an overwhelming thought: “I have to make something with my hands”. I didn’t know exactly what, but had a good idea ...

I’ve had a creative impulse most my life and have made things since childhood — forts,  little scenes under glass cloches, taking loose fabric and making “couture” outfits for my sisters then doing photoshoots,  redesigning our house on paper. and countless other experiments.  Later, my career placed me in a world where creativity was expected to solve impossible problems,  where the words “it isn’t possible” were never an answer. That mindset lives within me,  it is in me when working in clay: I ask, “What does it want to be?”  Sometimes things go wildly wrong and instead of throwing the piece away i wonder … what else can it be?  Some of my best pieces have come from moving past the accidents and pushing (or pulling) the pieces beyond the initial plan.  There’s always something underneath,  sometimes something we haven’t seen before.

I began throwing out of a need to make something with my hands - I started by taking a wheel course … and then another … and then another … and then kept going.  This direction feels natural and one i’m meant to follow.  The process is constant learning, from observation, from mistakes, from watching people like Florian Gadsby and the people in my studio, from letting the clay teach me - and sometimes from simply playing.  There are surely times I look like a kid playing in the mud.  Early on, I fell in love with every piece I made. That feeling hasn’t really gone away. At the same time, I’ve learned to recognize when something I make isn’t honest—when I’ve rushed, or repeated something without intention. Those are the moments that remind me why I do this: I want to create something beautiful. Not perfect—beautiful. ... to find beauty in whatever it becomes.

For me, the act of making is also about allowing room for discovery, even failure. I said before,  I rarely throw anything away. I believe there’s always something inside the piece waiting to be revealed. Like Michelangelo’s enslaved figures, half-trapped in marble—sometimes it just needs time, patience, and attention to emerge.

I’m still learning. I’m still surprised by what shows up. There is beauty in that. There is also much beauty in the community that surrounds us as potters and ceramicists.

I will always be grateful for Cynthia and Miguel,  for saying yes,  for saying “keep going!” … and also to a special person at the studio who encouraged my experiments towards art.