Hello all,

I have been so remiss! Not a blog from me for yonks, if at all.

Things are now changing.. My history as a potter is long indeed.

Here is my first ever fired pot. It’s the wee white one. Can you recognise the style from a twelve year old? From the age of eleven I practised Archaeology. From the age of three, I was smitten with clay. Less than a mile from my home was Peggie Foy’s Pottery. There I smelt the hessian sacks of clay. That wonderful moody smell, which got under one’s fingernails and into the skin.

At Peggie’s I made some mushrooms on a grassy tump. They were fired, on my insistence, in her gas kiln along with special whimsical ceramic lamps for Prince Charles and Princess Anne’s bedside tables. These nightlights were full of little animal figures: Each had its own story.

Whenever I heard the word ‘Clay’ I felt in rapture. I dug clay from pond-sides and roadworks: I found it in woodlands and carried it home. It was like treasure to me.

It takes years to understand that you have to understand your clay. If you do, you can learn its strict rules, then bend them.

I’m wandering here, but that is no bad thing when speaking of such an elemental material.

Passion for pots drove me into the Art Rooms at School. There I stayed, avoiding as many lessons as possible. When I discovered I was not missed, or the class was better without my presence, I began to flourish.

I thought I was just helping at the evening classes! I discovered later that I was teaching… Funnily, I was so involved with what I was doing, I never noticed.

So this was my first thrown pot. My feelings when it came from the kiln, I can’t fully describe. I just knew that I was a creator and this was just the beginning! 

Being of a businesslike nature, I sold my works to shops, friends and evening class mates. I knew that to survive in pottery you had to SELL! Only  then could you indulge yourself in other clay pursuits. Fortunately I have managed this alley life and still am.

This is one of today’s pieces. I was sent a photo from Kirsteen Stewart of an interior shoot. A client liked a pot in a corner and asked where on could be procured from. It wasn’t mine, but I threw it just the same. It suited my style. I did a few more just in case.