July 2026
w/c 29 June 2026
When the Work Matters
I have come to the conclusion that my latest large contour vessel simply wasn't meant to be. During the build I discovered numerous small metal inclusions within the clay body. Looking back, I probably should have abandoned the piece at that point, but hindsight is a wonderful thing. Instead, I carried on, determined to see it through.
Once the vessel had reached its leather-hard stage, I carefully transported it to university ready for firing. On arriving in Preston, I unwrapped it to discover a large, very clean crack running through the form. Whether this was caused by the piece drying more quickly than I had realised during last week's heatwave, or simply down to my own craftsmanship, I honestly don't know.
I have repaired the crack as sympathetically as I can and the vessel is now drying slowly under a loose cover. Whether it survives, only time will tell. Whatever the outcome, I have already decided that I need to remake this vessel. This time it will be built entirely at university, removing the risk of transporting such a large leather-hard piece.
What surprised me most, however, was not the crack itself, but my reaction to it.
For several days I found it difficult to settle back into the studio. The disappointment lingered far longer than I expected and seemed to unsettle both my concentration and my momentum. Reflecting on this afterwards, I realised that perhaps the strength of my reaction had very little to do with the damaged vessel itself. Instead, it revealed just how deeply connected I had become to this particular body of work. During the making of the piece I had experienced that quiet sense of connection I have been searching for over the last year, and losing the vessel felt, for a while, like losing part of that momentum.
The more contour vessels I make, the more I find myself wanting to continue exploring them. They feel increasingly aligned with both my Memories of Place methodology and with the way I want to communicate through clay. The contour of Sawbridge informs the beginning of each form, but no longer dictates it, allowing memory, rhythm and emotional response to shape the work alongside the landscape itself.
This series also reminds me of the quiet restraint found in the work of the Italian ceramic artist Paola Paronetto, whose ceramics I have admired for many years. Not because I wish to emulate her work, but because I recognise a similar belief that subtlety can often communicate more powerfully than decoration. Increasingly, I find myself wanting my own work to whisper these connections to place rather than explain them. Whether this is the beginning of finding my own voice, I cannot yet say, but it certainly feels as though I am moving closer to it.
Wanting to keep momentum with my self-imposed timetable for the degree show, I also began a new sculptural form this week. This develops one of the earlier pieces from my Winter Series. Although this form does not begin with a contour-informed base, I am still trying to capture the flow and rhythm of the landscape within the overall movement of the piece. Like much of the work at the moment, it remains very much an exploration.
Back in my home studio I have already begun preparing clay for the fourth vessel in the graduated contour series. In an attempt to streamline the process of reclaiming and mixing clay, I have been experimenting with a Drytomita bath mat, which has become something of a phenomenon on social media for drying clay remarkably quickly. Time will tell whether it lives up to the hype.
Looking back over the week, I have begun to realise that disappointment and excitement are perhaps much closer companions than I had appreciated. The crack in the contour vessel was undeniably disheartening, yet it also confirmed something I had not fully acknowledged before: this work really matters to me.
Perhaps that is why the disappointment felt so profound.
Piece by piece, the vision continues to emerge.
