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,  one morning woke up with this 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 and made things since childhood — forts,  little scenes under glass cloches, taking loose fabric and making a “couture” outfits for my sisters and doing photoshoots,  redesigning our house on paper. Later, I worked in a world where creativity was expected to solve impossible problems, where “it isn’t possible” was never an answer. That mindset lives within 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 accident and pushing (or pulling) the pieces beyond the initial plan.  There’s always something underneath,  maybe 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 meant to follow.  The process includes constant learning, from observation, from mistake, from watching people like Florian Gadsby, from letting the clay teach me - and sometimes from simply playing.  Sometimes I’m sure I must 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 the imperfection.

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 on the wheel. 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 Catarina for encouraging my experiments towards art.