I fell in love with clay when I was nine years old, but what first captured my heart was the functionality. The turquoise bowl I made out of long snakes of clay coiled up on themselves was not pretty. It wasn’t even cute. But it WORKED. It held my cereal and milk and I was able to eat my breakfast out of a container formed by my own hands. THAT is what hooked me. The making of functional things.
Artistry came much later, a process informed first by noticing what I loved in others’ pots. What was I drawn to, and why? From Sequoia I learned a deeply reflective studio practice. Being intentional. Asking good questions. What makes a pot authentically mine? Over time I have come to see each pot not only as a vessel but as a canvas. The making stage and the painting stage are distinctly different from one another, but intrinsically connected to form the finished pot.
I make pots that are humble, honest, simple. They are easy to use, rugged and adventure-ready. My mugs can sit on the dash of a pickup in a deep CO winter or rest in the hands of a toddler just learning to hold things with care. These are no delicate flowers. They showcase imagery of places I love - scenes from a trail run, a favorite ridgeline, a moonrise. I hope that they will not only tell stories from my life, but connect to your stories, too. That you will recognize your own memories, dreams, and joys in my pots. That sitting with a steaming cup in your hands, you will commune not only with the maker but with yourself, wherever you are and wherever you are going. May your cup and your heart be full.