1 October 2026
Finding My Feet
It is difficult to believe that six weeks have passed since I last touched clay.
Six weeks since I finished my final piece for the MA Degree Show and completed the last firing. No wonder I have been feeling a little jittery. I miss being completely submerged in my work — the focus, the concentration and the absolute self-absorption that seems to be necessary for me to really connect with what I am making.
There have been a few bumps along the way since finishing the MA. I was ill for about two weeks afterwards, which perhaps wasn't surprising after the sheer exhaustion of those final few months. Maybe my body simply decided that enough was enough and it was time to stop. Or perhaps I just caught a virus. Either way, thank goodness it happened after I had finished!
Back home, I have been tackling the rather less glamorous side of becoming a practising artist — tidying, sorting and clearing out my home studio to try to turn it into a proper working environment for this next stage. This has inevitably spilled over into the potting shed, which is going to have to accommodate some of the things I can't fit into the studio, including old work and the ever-present, rather bulky packaging materials that apparently come with being a ceramic artist.
Gradually, though, I am starting to feel a little more settled and, inevitably, thoughts about what happens next are beginning to take hold.
I have been giving this a lot of thought. I will only be an emerging artist once, and I don't want to waste this opportunity by rushing headlong into everything that comes my way. At the same time, I know myself well enough to realise that I work better when I have some definite targets to aim towards.
The penny only really dropped in June about where my work was heading, which meant I only just managed to make enough work for the final show. I don't have a body of work sitting behind me ready for the next exhibition or opportunity. So, for the next few months, my priority is actually quite simple: make work.
I want to spend some time making and testing new ideas within the working methodology that emerged during my MA — Contour Vessels informed by a line from place, exploring the connection to landscape and the emotional resonance of memory and place. I want to push this work further, see where it can go and, importantly, give myself the time to develop it properly rather than constantly working towards the next deadline.
There are already a few opportunities I am considering for next year, including BCB Fresh and the International Ceramics Festival Emerging Artist opportunities. Even if I am unsuccessful, I think the discipline of working towards these applications will be valuable. They give me something to aim for and, hopefully, a reason to keep developing the work.
For now, I have also decided not to participate in ceramic fairs. I don't feel quite ready for that yet and, after the intensity of the MA, I am conscious of not putting unnecessary pressure on myself. It is something I can revisit in the future.
Gallery representation is another area I would quietly like to explore. Having previously run Fosse House Gallery, I am familiar with the gallery environment from the other side of the equation, but approaching established galleries at a level where they might consider representing my work is a very different proposition — and one which is completely new to me.
There is a lot for me to learn about how that process works, when the right time might be to approach a gallery and, perhaps most importantly, whether my work is ready for that level of representation. It does feel a little like a chicken-and-egg situation — do I need to establish myself through exhibitions and opportunities before approaching galleries, or does gallery representation help to create those opportunities? I suspect there isn't a straightforward answer, and perhaps this is something I will gradually work out as my practice develops.
This week I have also returned to my sketchbook, which feels encouraging. Ideas and thoughts are beginning to emerge again, and I can already feel the familiar impatience to get my hands back into clay.
I know myself. I could spend weeks happily filling sketchbooks with ideas, but eventually I will become desperate to start making them. There is something about actually working with clay that settles me. Once I am making, the impatience disappears and I become calm and focused. Making has always been a very mindful process for me — a way of stepping away from all the noise and madness outside the studio and simply being present with the work.
So perhaps this period of not making has been useful after all.
Six weeks felt far too long at first.
But perhaps I needed the space to step back, take stock and think about what comes next.
Now I think I am ready to get my hands dirty again.
The student chapter has closed. The next one is waiting to be written.
14 October 2026
A Little Recognition, A Little Rejection and New Directions
I was quietly thrilled to receive the Potclays Graduate Award 2026 for my MA Final Show at the University of Lancashire. What makes this award especially meaningful to me is a memory from the very beginning of my MA journey.
Two years ago, when we first started the course, we were shown work by the previous year's graduating students. I remember seeing the Potclays Graduate Award and thinking to myself:
“How amazing it would be if, in two years' time, that was me.”
There is something rather lovely about the small thoughts and hopes we have at the beginning of a journey, never quite knowing where they might lead. It feels like a small but very special moment at the end of two years of hard work, and a lovely reminder that sometimes the things we quietly hope for really do happen.
A huge thank you to Potclays for supporting the University of Lancashire's ceramics graduates and for this very welcome award. It means a great deal to me.
And then, BUMP — back down to earth!
A few days later, I received notification that my piece from the First Frost series had not been selected for the Discerning Eye exhibition. I was disappointed, of course, and probably more deflated than I would like to admit. It is difficult when you receive a rejection without any feedback, as you are left wondering what it was that didn't quite fit. Was it the piece itself, the selection process, or simply that it wasn't right for this particular exhibition? I shall never know.
After a few days of feeling rather sorry for myself, I reminded myself that this is part of putting work out into the world. Not everything will be selected, and rejection doesn't necessarily mean that the work isn't good enough. It may simply not have been right for that particular exhibition, at that particular time.
Exhibiting at the Mall Galleries in London has long been an ambition of mine, so I will try again next year. Perhaps this is a reminder that I still have time to hone my Contour Vessels, to continue developing their forms and the visual language I am building around them. I am only at the beginning of this next stage, and there is still much to explore.
And that brings me to something else that has been on my mind.
I was recently asked where the lines on my vessels come from. It is an interesting question, because the patterns I see in the landscape have become a constant source of inspiration. The contours themselves provide a starting point, but I am increasingly interested in the other lines, rhythms and patterns that catch my eye — the marks and details that hold a memory of a particular place or moment.
This is something I want to explore much more over the next few months. How might I translate the first shoots of spring, the fragile patterns formed in a frozen puddle in winter, or the movement of grasses in a summer breeze onto my Contour Vessels? And what kind of visual language might emerge as I experiment with these ideas?
I don't yet know the answers, which is part of the excitement.
A recent visit to Charlecote Park in Warwickshire provided another little moment of inspiration. In the courtyard, I found myself drawn to the patterns created by the cobbles and bricks beneath my feet. Something so ordinary, something we might walk across without giving it a second thought, suddenly caught my attention. It was the arrangement of the shapes, the repetition and the subtle irregularities that interested me.
I took a closer look, and of course, photographs followed!
It is often these small details that stay with me. I don't necessarily want to reproduce them literally, but to understand what it is that draws me to them and how that feeling might find its way into the work.
So, a couple of weeks of contrasting emotions: the pleasure of receiving an award, the disappointment of rejection and the beginnings of some new ideas.
Perhaps that is what this next stage of being an artist will be about — learning to enjoy the moments of recognition without relying on them, accepting the disappointments without letting them derail me and continuing to look, question and experiment.
There is still a long way to go, but I am beginning to understand that the path is as much about discovering what I want to say as it is about finding the ways to say it.
27 October 2026
Finding a New Rhythm
I can’t quite believe how difficult I have found it to begin making again. My head and sketchbook are full of ideas I want to explore — the contours, colours and textures of the landscape, and how I might capture those fleeting moments and emotional connections which ultimately shape our sense of belonging to place. Yet somehow, getting from thinking about making to actually making has taken longer than I expected.
A few weeks ago, I finally made a start.
The surrounding countryside is full of warm orange, red and golden yellow hues at the moment, but I know all too quickly these will disappear, to be replaced by the cold embrace of winter, with its blues and rich earthy tones. I want to explore how to capture these fleeting moments within my vessels, and how the colours of one season might overlap and mingle with another, just as they do in the landscape itself.
Working on my own from home brings a different pace to the work. I can’t maintain the long ten-hour days I spent at university, as life happens around me at home. I am also discovering that I can’t simply push a few test tiles through into the kiln room and have them magically appear the following week, courtesy of the technician!
But there are advantages to this new way of working, too. I am beginning to discover a more mindful pace, one that probably won’t produce huge quantities of work, but somehow feels more me — a more thoughtful process, with time to consider what I am doing and where I want to take it next.
I have now finished building three small vessels, whose forms have been informed by the contour along a country lane near home. They are now drying, ready for their first firing very soon. My next dilemma is deciding which season to explore with them. Autumn is all around me, but winter is just around the corner, and spring is already beginning to occupy my thoughts. Always another problem to solve!
On another note, I was delighted to be invited once again to exhibit some of my work at the Great Northern Contemporary Craft Fair (GNCCF), held in Manchester at the wonderful Victoria Baths. My work was included on the University of Lancashire stand, helping to promote the MA Ceramics course.
Unfortunately, at the last minute I was unable to attend the event, but to my absolute delight, I discovered that one of my pieces had sold — even though this wasn’t primarily a selling exhibition. A lovely and unexpected piece of news!
Thank you once again to the course leader, Rob Parr, for the opportunity to take part and for continuing to support the work of the university’s ceramics graduates.
And finally, something else arrived in the post today — my MA certificate, confirming that I had been awarded a Distinction.
I have to admit, it feels rather special to see it in print. There were plenty of moments during the two years when I questioned what I was doing, wondered whether I was getting anywhere, and struggled to make sense of where my work was heading. There were also plenty of experiments that didn’t quite go to plan!
Looking back, I can see just how much I have learnt, not only about working with clay, but about my own practice and the direction I want to take it. Receiving a Distinction feels like a lovely acknowledgement of all that work, the persistence and the many hours spent trying to make sense of it all.
I am very proud of what I achieved, and I think it is important to allow myself a moment to enjoy that feeling before moving on to the next challenge.
Because there is always another challenge, isn't there?
For now, I am slowly finding my way back into the studio, getting to know my work again and beginning to explore some of the ideas that have been gathering in my sketchbook. I suspect the pace will be different from the one I became accustomed to at university, and perhaps that is no bad thing.
There is no rush to make all the work, or to answer all the questions, at once. I need to give myself time to experiment, to follow an idea and see where it leads, and to allow the work to develop at its own pace.
Perhaps this next chapter is less about how much I make, and more about what I discover along the way.
