Of Pinterest

I am a recent Pinterest junkie. 

In a very short space of time I have created a long, and rapidly expanding, image scroll of ceramics I like. The stark difference in aesthetic between these images and my own work has me decidedly intrigued and I have allowed my interest to develop to nigh on obsessional proportions. The more I do the more questions arise about my own practise and what I see and sense when I look at pots.

Tortus Copenhagen Ceramics

I approached it all with an air of suspicion. I am well aware a piece can look better in an image than in real life and not handling the object means only getting half the story. Deciding to overlook these limitations I have been frantically clicking away, scratching the surface of a world of ceramics beyond my immediate reach. 

There is an undeniable promotional advantage to the site in the best possible sense. When an artist's name appears a few times in my pins I look them up to find out more about their work, background and practise and I have also created a pin board for my own work because you never know what might happen if you put it out there. But the main reason I have been using Pinterest is to look at pretty pictures and to keep a record of them for future inspiration. I used to cut and paste, now I pin.

I have stuck to some simple rules - I won't pin if the image is too small or out of focus - but have broken others - namely not pinning if the artist isn't credited. Some pieces I like too much to exclude on this basis.

Susanne Nemeth

It's all very immediate and I have to admit to enjoying the snap judgement. It feels sub conscious, a gut reaction. But every now and then I look back at my image collection and am surprised by the clearly defined aesthetic of my choices. I thought I was more ceramic-ly broad minded! And how odd that when I look at the board of my own work it appears so very different.

Ann Linnemann

What do I look for in a pot?  I like pieces that appear assured and effortless. While admiring technically difficult or conceptually challenging pieces, they are not the ones I chose to pin  in my Ceramic Vessels board. I might pop them in my Inspiring Artworks category but my ceramic vessel board is reserved for pieces with which I would feel at home. Comfortable pieces with proportions that look right, forms resolved.

They are also pieces that encapsulate the making process. There is no denying they are clay, the malleability of the medium is evident, as is the maker's hand. I am drawn to the organic but not at the exclusion of refinement. And while not afraid of colour, the palette I like is gentle, enhancing rather than detracting or interfering with the beauty of the form.

Ashtray and Match Container by Gertrude and Otto Natzler

There is a definite sense of nature in the works I have pinned. Clay is intrinsically of the earth and I like vessels that reflects this, not in an overt, replicating way but in subtle tones, marks and movements that add to the essence of the piece.

Other trends have appeared in my predilections - thick, buttery and textured glazes; rugged, raw clay bodies; soft, painterly slips. The core material often appears present in the finish, be it an exposed foot, a finger mark that has repelled the glaze or a dark clay body escaping the cover of glaze on rims and rises.

Sweet Imperfections by Hanaoka Yutaka

And apparently I am quite fond of faceting and fluting. Who knew?!

There are of course things that I did know that have simply been confirmed in all of this- my love of Lucie Rie's ceramics and Japanese minimalism. My appreciation of timeless, simple, organic shapes and natural colours. And my enjoyment of ceramic sculpture with a sense of humour and whimsy. 

Mathieu Cordeaux

The images in this post are just a few examples of what I have stumbled across in my ad hock journey through Pinterest realms, credited to the best of my abilities.

I don't know how long I will continue to pin or where it will take me. I'm not even sure that it's healthy for my creativity but it really is a whole lot of fun. And in my usual style I have turned it from a spontaneous, impulsive sense of play into an exercise for consideration. That can't be a bad thing... can it? 

Testing - one two

I am deep in testing mode. Throwing hundreds of test bowls, weighing stains in 2 gram increments, mixing, sieving, pouring, firing, assessing, re-assessing... How are the percentages? Is the glaze too thick? Should I readjust the firing schedule. I need more test bowls, more weighing...

This is a time perhaps only craftspeople can really understand. (And maybe their partners!) The time that if you were honest about when working out your hourly rate of pay would really put you closer to.. um.. $3 an hour? The time that to truly answered the question "How is your work going?" would make people back away from you slowly at parties. And the time that requires a great deal of faith.

I have several goals in mind. I am continuing to explore colours for my stained porcelain works, attempting to develop a colour palette of translucent, high gloss glazes for a new collection of porcelain tableware and believe it or not I am still searching for my ideal, clear stoneware glaze.

While I have a vague vision of things in my mind I am always open to being led by unexpected results. I think you need to have an open mind at this stage otherwise you can end up feeling like you are banging your head against a brick wall.

The testing process is a little like reading a book. You are excited to begin and as things slowly progress, and if the book is good you become immersed. But sometimes you don't like where it has taken you and occasionally you are better off just putting the damn thing down and starting another before you waste any more hours, days... weeks.

A potter must test. These are the good, hard yards. It is how we get to know our materials, develop ideas, discover new things and expand our language. And every now and then the results are magic. 

Thinking bowls

"In the higher stages of skill, there is a constant interplay between tacit knowledge and self conscious awareness, the tacit knowledge serving as an anchor, the explicit awareness serving as critique and corrective." The Craftsman by Richard Sennett (p.50)

I am reading The Craftsman at the moment and loving every minute of it. Sennett often discusses the tacit knowledge of a craftsperson and the inherent difficulty in accessing this knowledge. It is hard to put into words the thoughts, both conscious and sub conscious, that run through my mind during the process of making and I agree wholeheartedly that knowledge and ability is best acquired through the act of doing and repeating.

As a teacher, however, I think it is important to impart all that I know to the best of my ability. Within the course structure I have developed for a (very) short course in ceramics, I find passing on information can be fairly ad hoc, or on a 'need to know' basis, as different students have different rates of learning and comprehension. Detailed conversations about specifics arise, and are most effective, only when students are attempting the task themselves or are naturally inquisitive about a certain problem.

I have been ruminating on my own tacit knowledge and the other day decided to jot down some of my mental meanderings as I threw some bowls. I was surprised by all that transpired despite realising I was only scratching the surface. To illustrate Sennet's point I thought I'd share my notes here, on my much neglected blog...  

BOWLS

When I begin a new form I play around with different amounts of clay. I weigh a few balls and take notes. As I have made many a bowl before I have a vague idea of the size of bowl I will gain from a certain amount of clay. This all depends on the type of clay being used - there is shrinkage to consider (10-15% after drying and firing) and the desired thickness of the walls. If the bowl is to have a foot it will need more clay in the base.

As I sit down to throw I think about the height and width ratio and the line of the curve. The point at which the wall comes to rest, the rim, is like a full stop at the end of a sentence, I don't want it to finish before my thought is complete but I don't want to warble on either. It has to be just right. Again I measure and take notes.

My work is quite minimal in form so I aim for a consistent curved line with no hiccoughs, interruptions or unnecessary changes of direction. I want a smooth surface that is comfortable to run a spoon over.

I am also conscious of the requirements of future stages. There needs to be enough clay at the base of the wall to support the form as I take it off the wheel and a slight taper up to the rim to give it structural soundness. I know the walls may lift slightly in the drying process so I make the width slightly greater than what I want the final result to be and I like to round and soften the rim so that it takes glaze well and doesn't become a rough edge. Turning the foot will alter the outside shape and in certain areas the form can't be too thin or it will collapse in the glaze firing.

Sub consciously, as I throw, I ponder the function of the piece. How it will be held and used directs my choices of size, balance, weight and feel. The "vibe of the thing." I also consider how it will be finished. Will I make marks on it that will affect the appearance of the form? How will I glaze it? Does the form listen to the glazes requirements - it's pooling potential or density?

I repeat and repeat and repeat. I might make ten or so and take them through to completion - turned, dried, decorated, fired, glazed and fired again. I assess the results, consult my notes and try again. Each series will resolve issues and the bowl will evolve, becoming something other than what I had initially imagined in response to the materials needs and because I have learnt more along the way. The piece becomes 'informed'... as I do.

Reading back I realise how obsessive this must seem, but when Richard Sennett writes lines such as...

 " the craftsman represents the special human condition of being engaged" (p.20)

and

"people can feel fully and think deeply what they are doing once they do it well" (p.20)

then I start to feel a whole lot better about what it is I do.

Upgrade issues

Nose to the grindstone is a fairly apt idiom for those that work on the potters wheel. I have nearly grazed mine on numerous occasions of late as I frantically make like a mad woman for the Christmas period. Loving every minute of it of course.

I had an idea to invest is some newfangled technology to speed up the clay colouring process so picked up this little beauty at the Daylesford trash and treasure...

No more holding the blender to mix stains in slip, I cunningly thought. I can get all sorts of things done as the machine works its magic. Alas this was not to be. While the beaters work a treat and the variable speed is a marvel, the bowl of this 1950's model Sunbeam does not rotate of it's own accord. I have to stand there slowly turning it, rather defeating the purpose. That and... well the walls of my studio were covered in splatters in an alarmingly quick manner. 

Not a huge success. But on the plus side I did have a lovely moment of being back at my mother's side, waiting patiently to lick the beaters as she whipped up her classic one-bowl-mix chocolate cake, .

So it's back to the trusty Kambrook for the time being...

Perhaps I'll try and modernise, maybe hunt down a 1960's model...

Shopping doesn't have to be a dirty word

I dropped by the Modern Times Pop Up shop yesterday and took a few happy snaps. More 'stay up' than 'pop up' it would seem as their lease has been extended to the end of the year. Fine by me! I enjoy the local artist works / retro Danish furniture combination.

Sophie Milne

There are many opportunities to see hand crafted wares in a market environment these days but good retail opportunities appear fewer on the ground or short-lived. I applaud, respect and appreciate the buying public's resurgence of interest in 'handmade' and the ingenuity of makers in finding ways and means of promoting and selling their work. But I do grieve for the decline of the retail outlet. 

I mentioned the importance of context in my post on Cone 11's recent exhibit. The way objects inhabit space is essential to their narrative. The creativity and ingenuity of some stall holders is spectacular but work crowded on a small table, put together in the space of an hour, is never going to have the same impact it could have in a well considered shop display. 

Tara Shackell

I don't like being an impulse buyer. I prefer to put thought into the objects I chose to bring into my life and assess them in an unhurried, quiet environment. Old fashioned I guess, but I like to pick things up, put them down, walk away and look at them from a distance. And I like to be able to go home and think about it and come back another day.

Rene Carrasco

Markets have been a saving grace to makers in an economic climate that makes it difficult to earn a living from labour intensive, traditional crafts. I do a few myself and am grateful for their popularity. Although the rapidly rising cost of hiring a stall does seem to suggest this bubble may soon burst - but that's another story!

I think there is room for a variety of selling formats for the handmade - markets, stores, online - and it is important to find what works best for you but also supports the industry and doesn't undermine the value of the work. I haven't found that perfect situation yet and I am aware that constant re-figuring is required to respond to the ever-changing market.

Adriana Christianson

But for now, I just want to express my gratitude to the retailers of handmade wares (particularly those that buy the work outright!) and encourage people to support the local store who supports their local artists.

 Sophie Milne

Thanks!

Quote #8

Since the Subversive Clay conference all I have wanted to do is devour any kind of craft writing I can lay my hands on. I guess it got me thinking. I have ordered many of the books mentioned by presenters and am eagerly checking the post box each day to see if any have arrived. 

In the meantime I have once again picked up Lucie Rie: Modernist Potter by Emmanuel Cooper. Readers of this blog will know I had rather a shock when I received this book a while back so I tucked it away for a few months to compose myself. I am now thoroughly enjoying reading it. Nearly every chapter reveals similarities in our work approach and thinking. I must admit I nearly cried when reading the first sentence of chapter one...  "Lucie Rie Gomperz was born on 16 March"... my birth date also... freaky. However there is something validating in the similarities and Cooper has an eloquent way of expressing many thoughts that muddle about in the recesses of my mind. 

Lucie Rie in 1988

Photograph: Tony Evans/Timelapse Library Ltd/Getty Images

I feel I may be recording a number of quotations in the months to come. So to begin, a note to self...

"Throughout her working life, Lucie never sought to make things as cheaply as possible or to reach a mass market, knowing that there was a limit to the quantities she could produce. The pots she made were labour intensive, carefully thrown with precisely turned bases and meticulously applied glazes  They were sophisticated in both concept and making, aimed at an educated, appreciative market that was specialist rather than popular, and their relatively high prices, as far as Lucie was concerned, was a fair reflection of their value."                     

Lucie Rie: Modernist Potter by Emmanuel Cooper p.72

I know, I'm over-thinking it...

One of the questions raised by my post about making similar work to another artist was along the lines of "why is this a problem?". The comment was made by Sophie Harle, a potter who, under the label Shiko, makes gorgeous ceramic vessels like this...

Sophie Harle bowls

and has the best ever whippet named Colin.

Colin

Knowing Sophie I know the intent in her comment was supportive, in a very justified get-over-it-and-on-with-it way. But it has prompted me to give greater consideration to my reaction on finding work so similar to my own. 

There is no doubt that at the heart of the matter was a fear of being perceived to have copied. I didn't and of course I shouldn't worry what others think, but it's a fairly human and understandable response. Beyond this, however, is the issue of work being "derivative". Such an interesting area this one, particularly for ceramics. The Oxford Dictionary defines derivative as "imitative of the work of another artist, writer, etc. and usually disapproved of for that reason" but also as "originating from, based on, or influenced by".

Given that craft, by it's own definition, draws and expands on accumulated knowledge, all ceramics could, in some ways, be called derivative. I don't think that second definition is such a bad thing. I often hear the words 'everything has been done before' which may be true but to be honest I find this a little depressing and defeatist. I can't imagine it's a phrase thrown around the offices at Apple. Certainly in the field of functional pottery there are only so many ways you can shape a bowl but with progress I do hope imagination and creativity are also areas that expand, evolve and seek new ground.

Bridget Fairbank Caribou Set

On her wonderful blog bpracticalpottery the potter Bridget Fairbank (that's her work above) recently wrote "Contemporary pottery is challenged by a history of traditional functionality in the sense of its structure. To create unique, good work within this finitely structured and ancient system of art, is an incredible feat and a dubious endeavor."  I agree and don't make pots to be intentionally original. I make pots to explore ideas in my own way, using the knowledge I have acquired from personal practise, from history and from other artists. But I would be lying to myself if I didn't admit to a quiet desire to express myself in a way that is unique.

I am over-thinking it and going around it circles. I make pots because most of the time it feels good and sometimes it also feels good to think about it too.

Creative paths travelled

I need to get something off my chest and what better forum than my own, neglected blog. I have a two-part tale to tell that might get a little wordy and possibly emotional but here goes...

Since the start of last year I have been developing new work. The time is ripe for a new direction. I have not been in a hurry, exploring ideas and incorporating personal experiences as they arise. Initially my desire was to work with new, braver colours while still using the matt exterior/ gloss interior that I love. I started to colour porcelain and fell in love with the results.

Good.

Needing to make a point of difference with other coloured porcelain wares currently available, I began experimenting with inlay, abstracting my previous urban iconography and enjoying this progression in my work.

Great.

Personal issues are bound to express themselves in creative endeavours and the death of my mother has had a huge impact on this new work. Nostalgia has crept into my form development and, no doubt, into my choice of colours. 

I inherited a collection of beautiful, traditional tea cups and saucers such as the one above and I loved the nod to ceramics of my mother’s era when one blue stain I tested appeared so like Wedgwood Jasper-ware blue. 

Wonderful.

There is still work to be done. The cup above is not particularly great to drink from, for example, so I have plans to resolve the form. But recently I have felt this new work is finally at a point where it is fit for public consumption. It will always be developing but I feel ready to start getting it out there. 

Hooray!

This blog has been so neglected of late as I have been busy taking photos, designing a new wholesale catalogue, putting my mind to pricing and making, making, making. Finally I took a collection of bottles, beakers, carafes and bowls in a range of colours to a store last week.

So here is where the tale takes a turn. 

First some background...

For those that are unaware I am a big fan of potter Lucie Rie. Her work was brought to my attention early in my ceramic career when a friend noticed parallels in our work, dark matt exteriors with scratched lines and minimal, functional forms. I was amazed by some similarity in our pieces, made some fifty years apart - she an Austrian living in London, myself, at the time, inspired by patterns and markings in the Australian landscape. 

Lucie Rie

Sophie Milne

I was aware that I liked her work because it was like my own and conscious, from that point on, of recognising her influence but not wanting to imitate.

Recently a new biography was published, Lucie Rie: ModernistPotter by Emmanuel Cooper, and as soon as I heard about it I ordered a copy and checked the post box daily for its arrival. Last Friday it came. I stowed the package in my pannier, rode straight to my studio, made myself a coffee and undid the cardboard wrapping. Mmmm, the cover image is beautiful, I flipped it over to look at the back and imagine my astonishment when I laid eyes on this image...

Holy Fuck.  

How could I not have known Lucie Rie designed work for Wedgewood? How could this cup and saucer, made in 1963, be so similar to one I just promised a store owner?? How could I have created new work so different from my previous work and still it looks like Lucie Rie’s??? And why oh why did this come to my attention the day after I made my first delivery?!

In the past few days I have gone through a mixture of devastation, feeling my work is unoriginal, self doubt that I hadn’t seen or been aware of this work before (but I honestly don’t think I have), fear that any deliberate changes I now make to my own work will feel contrived and a small, strange element of pride that I design work so like my idol’s. 

I have calmed down a little now and realise that the majority of this new work is not so similar. I am beginning to feel somewhat stoic. I will let go of the Jasperware blue for now, I have many other coIours and forms. I am a creative person, I can roll with the punches, I will continue to develop this work in the personal and honest way I have done to date and it will not be the same as Lucie Rie’s!

Tomorrow ...  the studio.

Today... I just needed to get this off my chest.

Revisiting the past

I would not say I hoard. I am not keen on accumulating possessions and love a good throw out or pass on. However, one thing I am hesitant to dispose of is glazes. I have buckets upon buckets of liquid glazes from long past repertoires, that I may wish to revisit... one day... maybe. A perfectly understandable notion I think? 

In the midst of my sorting and moving the other day I stumbled upon a rather large bucket of Ming glaze (a deleted Northcote Pottery line) that I realised had not been used for over 10 years and had settled beyond resurrection. Tossed it I did. Very brave of me I thought.

The reason I had held on to this glaze for so long is because it graces some of my earliest pottery pieces that are probably amongst the most used items in my home. I made many of these bowls and plates when I set up my first studio. Thrown, squared slightly and reduction fired. 

I was eating a lot of Thai food at the time.

They have stood the test of time, the most important quality I could wish to achieve in my ceramics. They have not chipped or been broken by hands young or old . They have been versatile in their function, morning, evening and all through the day. And despite my constantly changing tastes in food and decor I haven't grown tired of their aesthetic. They are by no means the prettiest things I have made but their quite solidity has ensured their stable presence in my ever changing life.

Oh, and I couldn't help but notice the slight similarity in glaze colour with these classic Wedgwood numbers that I have recently inherited and remember so fondly for my childhood.

I love the conscious and sub conscious effect of nostalgia on the choices we make in daily objects and I'm looking forward to exploring this more in future work. 

That Ming glaze, however, will not be making another appearance, which makes my somewhat naive and homely bowls and plates all the more special.

Ahhh...

Here comes the sun... and the food and the wine and the family and friends. I'm going to appreciate all to the fullest and have a little break from work and the computer screen.

I wish you all a very Merry Christmas.

Back soon!
Sophie

Testing, testing

It's most frustrating when you like the results after a bisque firing a whole lot better than after the glaze firing. That's seems to be the case for me quite a lot lately as I continue to test different colours in Southern Ice porcelain. Not quite right.. try again.. my studio is awash in test tiles.

Jane Sawyer recently drew my attention to a wonderful Grayson Perry video in which he referred to opening the kiln door as an "exercise in controlled disappointment". Ain't that the truth! I have learnt over the years not to heed my initial response to glaze firing results as they never ever match my fertile imaginings of what might lie behind that kiln door.

I unpack, inspect and walk away. I might grumble or huff a little but I stop myself from drawing any conclusions until I've had a moment (or day or two) to regroup and then I look again. Only then do I allow myself critical reflection. I take pieces home to look at them in an environment more natural than my fluorescent lit studio. I like to live with things for a little, pondering them at different times of the day,in various locations around the house, as I wander by or put them to use.

It's a busy time of year, orders to meet, markets to plan, commitments are stepping up a notch. And yet now, of all times, I have succumbed to an intense desire to develop new work. I can't help myself. Testing this, trying that. I'm loving it. Experimentation means opening the kiln door is all the more exciting and... challenging in regard to controlling the disappointment.

Go easy on the manganese dioxide Sophie!

Some thoughts on competitions

I have just submitted work for the Clunes Ceramic Award. I wasn't going to mention it to avoid awkwardness should I not be accepted but then I realised I am actually ok with that. Having worked on selection committees myself I know how arbitrary and arduous that task can be, even with the best of intentions.

Clunes montage

The process of putting work into a competition interests me. Clunes accepts ceramic work made in the previous 12 months by an Australian resident. The prize money is $5000 with the work being acquired by the Castlemaine Art Gallery. There are other requirements regarding size etc but basically you send in images of your work and a judging panel decides if you are in or not then a judge selects a winner from the exhibited works.

My overriding response to this is... cool. An opportunity to exhibit and possibly sell work - good. A chance to make something that is not part of my retail repertoire - excellent. The potential to see my work alongside other Australian ceramicists that I admire - fabulous. Maybe a night out with champers and friends - wonderful!

But.. what to submit? I feel unnerved by a sense that the work must be 'substantial'. In what sense? Obviously in quality but in size? In price? In concept? 

Despite a strong belief that one little bowl can be as substantial as a large sculpture, the scale of an exhibition and exhibition space could result in it appearing insignificant. Should this deter one little bowl being entered? No. But context is important. Entering a set or grouping might be more appropriate.

I do love a still life. When I had a shop my favourite activity was arranging the displays. In my home I am constantly rearranging things on shelves - searching for chiaroscuro, taking things away and moving this one a little to the left. Arrangements are part of my work so for this reason, and other reasons that I will expand on in a future post, I have entered a still life. My issue - I feel like I am 'doing a Gwyn' (which resonates all the more on this occasion considering she was born in Ballarat). Gwyn Hanssen Pigott - I so love her work but I have to say her ceramic supremacy has made it difficult for the rest of us to group ceramic vessels without feeling like our work is derivative!

Gwyn Hanssen Pigott Travellers no. 3 2001 (image sourced from here)

The only thing for it is to make what I want, respecting her influence but holding firm to the knowledge that my work comes from within.

Then there is the issue of the value of the work. $5000 is quite a bit of money, should the piece I submit reflect this amount? It is not expected that you submit a work with this price attached but if the judge was having trouble deciding between two works would he/she be swayed by the artists perceived value of their own work?

And finally - concept. Clunes asks for an artist statement that "includes a conceptual rationale". When it comes to functional pottery I think 'because it feels good to use' is a fairly substantial concept but perhaps this doesn't stand up so well in a competitive field. I do explore conceptual ideas in my work but I don't think that this makes it of greater value than works that may less obviously do so. In the case of the Clunes Ceramic Award the requirement of a concept is clearly stated so it should be accepted as a prerequisite of selection. 

When it comes to a competition the idea that one piece is chosen because it is better than the others is difficult to avoid. Perhaps the best way to view the selection of a winner is more that it is one artists turn to be singled out and duly recognised and awarded for their work. I certainly felt that way in regard to the selection of Neville French's work in Clunes last year.

Neville French, Mungo Light 2010

I am, of course, over thinking it all and in reality have simply submitted work that I intended to make, competition or not. I am not 'in it to win it' but to set myself personal goals and challenges in order to make myself a better potter. I mention these considerations only to illustrate some of my thinking process and to encourage discussion regarding the light in which ceramic art is viewed.

And if you made it to the end of this rant I thank you for indulging me!

Revisiting earlier thoughts

Sometimes I play around with ideas then they get shelved, often quite literally.

Like these bottles for example. 

Little tests in throwing coloured clay and inlay. They weren't particularly successful... over fired for one and elements of cracking in the inlaid slip... but there was something in them that persuaded me to leave them visible on a studio shelf. They've have been there for months, maybe years, and my eyes often come to rest on them when I am pondering something else entirely.

I have some other tests stuck to the window sill.

Colouring clay. 

It's been something I have been meaning to return to for ages. Actually, now that I have looked into it, I see it was Oct 2009 when I mentioned it last on this blog. God, that's frightening. No matter... some things take time to simmer and my small reminders have finally paid their dues. 

I have been having a whole lot of fun mixing stains and clay. I half fill a doubled bag with dry turnings of Southern Ice porcelain and smash it with a rolling pin just like my Mum did with Marie biscuits for her hedgehog recipe. Then I mix measured amounts of clay, stain and water with my trusty (so far) blender.

Once the coloured slip has dried a little on a plaster batt I wedge away and... voila... coloured clay. I imagine the longer the whole process takes the better, allowing the clay to settle and mature at different stages. My impatience to get throwing has been only slightly tempered by the usual time-in-the-studio limitations (ie. eating, sleeping, socialising and.. oh yeah.. raising a child) but I haven't experienced any problems to date as a result of doing things fairly quickly.

And my... it is so much fun the throw with colour...

I shall most certainly return to this topic as things start to emerge from the kiln... oh and I think I have the inlay issues resolved too so more on that soon.

Writing 'bout pots

I have had a couple of articles published recently. 

Writing about ceramics is a newly discovered joy for me. I am a long-time reader of other peoples thoughts on the subject, always loving my interpretation and comprehension of ceramic artworks validated, broadened, challenged or provoked. Now I find putting my own thoughts down as written words furthers my ability to formulate opinions and gain a greater understanding of the root of these opinions. You know.. a little more than 'the vibe of the thing.' 

Writing about pots get me thinking and if it gets others thinking too.. well that's a bonus.

Lessons In Clay: The Art of Ann Ferguson  Ceramics Monthly May 2011 p.82

Concept and Competition Sophie Milne talks with Kim Brockett and Anita Cummins The Journal of Australian Ceramics Volume 50 April 2011 p.76