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Thrown pottery is all about containers that hold things. The most ancient pottery we find was made for holding liquids or foods. We feel an instinctive kinship with a pot that’s made to cradle stuff, keep it safe, and separate it from the outside.
My bottles and jars react to that deep feeling. Bulging shapes, with small openings, express the sense of protection and enclosed space. The Chinese badges with which I decorate them often play with the concept of restraint, or with the meaning of the things that might be held inside.
I’m fascinated by the practical use of the pots I make. I welcome the design constraints imposed by the need for a pot to work properly. The joy comes from using the rules to push me in fruitful directions. That impetus is most sharply present in pouring vessels.
My jugs express what I mean by that. I want them to invite you to pour out, literally and metaphorically. Sometimes that comes through in my choice of the Chinese badge. Sometimes in the way I shape the lip, and its relation to the body of the jug.
Bowls allow us to carry liquids around. But within that basic purpose, we have huge freedom to express. I use the bowl shape as a framework. To me, the bowl is a thrower’s chance to try out shapes, decoration, and glazes. Bowls, more than any other form, are about experimenting.
So making bowls is a process, not an end point, for me. I hardly ever go back to a specific shape. Rather, I like to work out an idea, and see where it points for the next series.
A teapot is the most demanding form a thrower can take on. But the rewards for success are great, too. I get a deep satisfaction from making teapots that work, and also look right. I want them to refer to the rite of drinking tea, as well as effortlessly enabling it.
After two years of trials, I’m pleased to say that these teapots pour better than any mass-produced one I’ve tried. More importantly, I hope they speak to you in a different way. But above all, they should be appealing to use.