December 2025
w/c 1 December 2025
Finding My Language
A friend who follows my work on social media mentioned this week that the language in my posts has shifted - that something in the way I write about my making feels deeper, more certain, more connected. Her comment made me pause. Looking back over the past twelve months of the MA, I can see how gradually this change has taken root. It feels as though the quieter internal shifts I’ve been navigating in the studio are finally finding their way into words. I’m quietly thrilled that this is coming across not as marketing polish, but as a genuine reflection of the journey my work and I are travelling together.
The two large exploratory forms at university had their final refining this week, which now leaves me with the much bigger question: how on earth do I want to treat their surfaces? I had hoped the latest batch of test tiles would offer clarity, but they did quite the opposite. The pastel-like marks I’d made using white engobe disappeared entirely once fired. Beneath the transparent glaze, a faint, ghost-like trace remained - subtle yet atmospheric, reminiscent of the spot UV varnish I used to adore in my graphic design days. An unexpected disappointment, but also a spark. That delicate, almost-hidden quality is something I’m excited to explore further. It feels like it could hold something essential to the “memory of place” I’m striving to express.
The pressure is certainly building - whether it’s self-inflicted or simply the natural rhythm of the course, I’m not entirely sure. With the next assessment looming in mid-January, my ‘to do’ list feels rather weighty. One box I’ve been meaning to tick for weeks was to actually use the 3kg of pale turquoise coloured clay I mixed ages ago. Finally this week, the moment arrived. Working from the third section of my Sawbridge contour, I began a new exploratory vessel. Wanting to use every last bit of clay has directly determined the height of the piece, which has been quite a freeing constraint. The build isn’t yet finished, so it’s wrapped up safely, waiting for me to complete and enclose the form next week.
Back at home, the second Frozen Whisper form is quietly growing, coil by coil. This time I’m working with an undulating coil rather than one of consistent width. The result is already more organic, more fluid - the form seems to move as it rises. I’m curious to see what kind of presence it will hold once complete.
The weather has shifted again - gone are the icy mornings and the beautiful frozen puddles with their intricate patterns. This week the rain has taken over, scattering the ground with puddles where ripples overlap and collide, creating ever-changing rings of movement that echo across the surface. I found myself watching them for far longer than I intended. It feels like a natural progression from the Frozen Whisper series - the next step in exploring how fleeting rhythms, whether frozen or fluid, might be translated into clay. There’s something in those expanding rings and shifting reflections that I want to chase further.
What’s Inspiring Me This Week
My inspiration this week continues with the work of Jun Kaneko. After watching a YouTube video about his practice, I found myself deeply drawn to his philosophy - his calm confidence, his willingness to embrace scale, and his gentle referencing of wabi-sabi, the quiet acceptance of imperfection and impermanence. His enormous hand-built ‘Dangos’ show what can be achieved with patience, vision and repetition. There is a profound honesty in the way he lets form and surface speak to one another without force.
Kaneko’s approach feels particularly resonant right now, as I try to balance control with intuition, refinement with openness and ambition with patience - much like these slow-building forms growing quietly in the background of my week.
w/c 8 December 2025
Refinement, Rain and Quiet Decisions
This week has been very much about refining and making decisions - the kind that feel both necessary and slightly uncomfortable. With the next assessment looming in mid-January and Christmas fast approaching, time is beginning to feel compressed. I’m trying to hold onto a sense of calm and focus while working through several outstanding exploratory forms that I hope to resolve in the coming weeks.
After much internal debate, I finally committed to a surface direction for the two large-scale forms, numbers 21 and 22. One will receive layers of white slip, the other black. I want these pieces to sit in conversation with one another - connected, but still able to stand independently. My sketchbook work has been feeding directly into this decision, as I’ve been exploring mark-making that captures memory of place rather than literal description. With the relentless rain we’ve had recently, I keep finding myself returning - almost unconsciously - to marks that echo water, movement and repetition. If all goes to plan, both pieces will be ready to head into their bisque firing before Christmas.
Form 23, built last week using a pale turquoise clay body (7% stain), has taken an unexpected turn. What began as an open vessel naturally resolved itself into an enclosed form - not my original intention, but one I’m very happy with. I’ve carved texture into the surface, and once it’s bisque fired I plan to apply a white engobe before high firing, allowing the surface to hold both restraint and subtle depth.
At home, Frozen Whisper #2 is now complete and patiently waiting for its first firing. The fluid, organic quality of the surface feels deeply resonant for me, and I’m keen to explore how this technique might evolve - perhaps shifting from frozen stillness into the rippling patterns created by raindrops in puddles, and eventually into the colours of the surrounding landscape. What continues to surprise me is just how long it can take for an idea to quietly mature. The photographs that first inspired these frozen puddle explorations were taken back in February 2025. I knew then that there was something in those intricate swirls and fleeting patterns that I wanted to hold onto - I’m just surprised it has taken eight months to find a way to translate those memories of place into clay. With the rain dominating the landscape right now, it feels like a natural progression to explore both frozen and fluid states together, though I may need to gently park these ideas until October next year, once the MA is complete.
What’s Inspiring Me This Week
This week, my inspiration has come from the intricate, flowing forms of basket weaver Marie Drouet, whose work holds a beautiful sense of rhythm, movement and quiet tension. The way her woven structures feel both delicate and strong resonates deeply with my own explorations of layered surfaces and slow construction.
Alongside this, I’ve been drawn to the ceramics of Cristine Bath, particularly the energy and rhythm of the landscape she captures through her ceramic forms. Her work feels alive with movement, holding a sense of flow that mirrors natural forces - water, wind, repetition - while remaining grounded in material honesty. Both practices remind me that rhythm, whether woven, drawn or built in clay, can carry memory and emotion in powerful, understated ways.
w/c 15 December 2025
Following the Quiet Thread
Each week, when I sit down to write this blog, I rarely know what I want to say. The words usually arrive through reflection - on the making I’ve been immersed in, the thoughts that have lingered, the artists and processes that have caught my attention, and how all of this might quietly feed into my work. Writing has become another way of listening.
This ongoing search for techniques that allow my ceramic sculptures to carry memories of place feels very much like the beginning of a long path of discovery. Reading Cristine Bath’s words about capturing ‘the ever-changing and vibrant dimension of nature perceptible’ has helped me articulate something I’ve been circling for a while. I think I’ve finally found my own reason for making - in seeking to hold and express my memories of place through clay.
This week, without any conscious intention to start a new form, the recently ploughed fields that surround us seem to have worked their way under my skin. During a very mindful session of intuitive making, I found myself responding to those rhythms and textures in clay. It also led me back to a series of clay test tiles I made back in March, where I blended two clay bodies - Valentine’s black clay PF680 and Potclays White St Thomas - to create a palette of soft, muted tones. I’m curious to see how these subtle colour shifts might translate into sculptural form, and I feel the familiar pull back to my sketchbook to begin teasing out these ideas.
In the background, the slower work continues. I’m still exploring surface treatments through ongoing test tiles - a process that takes weeks, sometimes months and many variations before anything begins to resolve, if it ever does. Learning to stay with this uncertainty has become part of the practice, even though it still feels slightly uncomfortable.
As Christmas approaches, I’m very aware of how much I could do with some rest and restoration. It’s been a busy term at university and although I’m grateful for the progress I’ve made, there’s a part of me that wishes I could repeat the last six months with everything I now know. Perhaps that’s simply part of learning. I’m hoping to spend some of the break reading Paperclay by Rosette Gault - a potentially dangerous choice, as it may well open up yet more avenues of exploration just as I’m trying to bring focus to my work for the final year and the degree show in September.
Merry Christmas to everyone, everywhere xx
