discovered clay in high school. The soft slip through fingers.
The turn of the wheel. The coiling-up by hand. The push, the pull.
The functional art. It was an addictive adventure.
my relationship with clay feels both like home and Neverland.
In the studio, the clay absorbs me, absorbs time; there, I expand,
delving into an enchantment. With a wheel, cool water, soft clay,
and a hot kiln, I craft useful stoneware pots.
work, I find echoes of my outdoor explorations. Autumn winds bending
tall grass prairie. Sunlight flickering old growth forests. Storm
clouds rolling across wide skies. Michigan sand dunes. Lake Superior
rocks. Moss-textured bark. Hard-curved gourds. Winter-bare shrubs.
Full-bloom flowers. Hiking, skiing, paddling, and camping in backcountry
places – all coming to roost amid the clay in my hands.