As a five or six year old, in the summertime of the South, the neighbor kids and I began digging up rocky, impure clay from our backyards and pinching it into vessels. We dried our wares on a big boulder in the sun, used acrylic paints to decorate them with childish designs, and peddled them around the neighborhood in a red wagon.
We didn’t understand the concept of a vessel. No grown-ups had instructed us in this backyard project. It came about intuitively; perhaps instinctively.
I find it absolutely fascinating that pottery and vessel-making arise so naturally out of the human experience, as if coded in our DNA. For me, the exploration of the ceramic vessel is not only instinctual, but compulsive; I just can’t shake the desire to make pots. As a potter, I like to approach my work from that unapologetic place of presence and intuition that my six-year-old self once inhabited, resulting in work that is playful and honest.