In the studio: three lessons that keep me stretching

I don’t claim to have all the answers, but here are three things that have shaped my art practice, helped me carve a path for my own work, and opened doors to opportunities I never could have expected.

1. Making materials my own

It is the inherent capabilities, especially the transformative nature of ceramics that hooks me in. I don’t just lean into the material side of ceramics, it is my starting point, it is the concept. From early on I was driven to create my own ceramic material blends, that hovered on the edge of melt, sometimes tipping just over it. That unique material immediately gave my work a distinct visual and tactile character and form. 

Of course, not everyone is motivated to dive deep into material research and testing, it might not be your jam. But if you are working with the same clay, paper, thread, or paint, as countless others in your field, the question becomes: how do you make it yours? How can you use it differently, manipulate it, cut it, burnish it, glaze it, construct with it, or reveal its texture in a way that reflects only your hand and vision?

2. Working to the edges 

Too many of us are hanging out in the middle. It’s at the edges where the really interesting things happen. 

I have a thing for layers (obvs). Before that, I was making solid large dense brick-like work. I wanted bulky, I wanted mass. I transitioned into building with thick, rough layers. Then I wondered what would happen if I took it in the other direction. How fine could I make layers, how light and delicate? I liked this challenge and have worked to build my own language with it.

Work to the extreme of your “thing”. You don’t have to stay there but you can gauge the breadth of what is possible. To make something exceptional you gotta go to the place no one else is going. Where are the edges and the unchartered territory in your work?

3. Being able to risk it all. 

I used to think I would get to a point when I know, more or less, how everything is going to come out. Ha! My thinking has evolved. 

I want to build knowledge and mastery, but I don't want to, and can’t, know the outcome completely. It’s tricky when so much feels like an experiment. It’s like walking a tightrope with an underlying current of discomfort, tension, anxiety even. Over the years, I have learned to live with this feeling. 

And the thing is: we all have to get comfortable with not knowing, and with risking it all. Making materials your own and working to your edges are big parts of this. When are you next going to risk it all to see what if?