Some were pandemic breadmakers, others pandemic rollerbladers. I’m what you could call a pandemic potter. Being artistically adventurous, I’d explored painting, sketching, papier-mâché, even basket weaving! But it wasn’t until April of 2020 that I found myself wrist-deep in clay. It just made sense to work with something formless and malleable that could be reshaped into something new. Call it divine timing, but pottery became my way of connecting with the peace and harmony within when words and explanations fell short. What started as a hobby became a journey of self-discovery, a newfound passion, and eventually a career.

Pottery is a rather involved art form with a lot of initial investment. Equipment is expensive, it requires a dedicated space, and the learning curve is steep. Diving in full force was a risk, but one that eventually paid off. My first creation was a little blob with a thumbprint in the center that fit in the palm of my hand. It was supposed to be a cup. Not a very promising start, but I was thrilled to have that creative flow back in my life. I felt inspired, excited to discover and develop a new talent. You’re never too old to try something new, as they say.

At this point in the pandemic, taking classes or having a mentor wasn’t an option. An autodidactic approach was the only way to go. I watched instructional videos, read ceramicist blogs, and poured over the booklets and manuals that came with my equipment. I let myself get lost (or more so found) in the endless self-discovery of learning this art, reconnecting with the oldest parts of our humanity and the muse to envision something never before seen all at once. I incorporated styles from ancient architecture, archaeological sites, and the natural crags and canyons of the earth. I was drawn to places where old structures were breaking down to be absorbed back into the womb of the world. There’s such loving patience and precision we can witness in this transformation, from the hands of our ancestors to the planet’s cycles of resetting herself. I knew I wanted what I created to reflect this feeling I couldn’t quite put into words. That’s the ethos of my art; parts of the mind that can’t be articulated, but can be sculpted through my hands and shared for others to experience as something to hold and decorate life with.