What pivotal moments or experiences have contributed to your development as a ceramic artist?

There have been four main ones.  

Firstly, I discovered one Easter that both my children, recently out of university, were earning more than I was as a special needs teacher.  I was exhausted by my job, and felt aggrieved that it was not remunerating me properly, so I decided to stop and go back to college to have a total change and study art.  

Then, whilst studying on a foundation degree, the college decided to close the ceramics department halfway through my course.  At the time, I was not intending to continue in ceramics - my mind was set on film studies, but I objected to the shutting down of our opportunities as a cohort.  My argument for not shutting the department was clearly quite strong because the college reversed the decision.  At this point, I discovered that no one wished to study ceramics, and I didn’t have the courage to admit it.  I suddenly found myself as the only student in the department, because I felt compelled to prove that the department was needed.  I ended up begging for tutorial support from a reassigned member of staff during lunchtimes.

Then we moved to London, and I enrolled on the ceramics diploma at City Lit College.  This was a fabulous course which really encouraged an enquiring mindset and required the development of a good understanding of the science of ceramics.  It was during this course that I first began using wild clays.  I was excited by the unpredictable nature of unprocessed material and the fact that it was possible to turn something so mundane as a lump of mud from the side of a stream into something truly beautiful.

Studying for a master’s degree enabled deep exploration of the thoughts behind my work.  I began to appreciate the extent to which I was being driven by a passion for sustainability and an environmental message.  These had always been there in the background, but it was only during this period that they became the crux of the philosophy behind my work.  It has been a double-edged sword because it has forced me to realise how much I need to consider the environment before I make anything – and that risks cramping experimentation.

One of the core aspects of your practice is to sanction discussion without apportioning blame. What technical or conceptual methods do you use to implement this philosophy?

This is a case of trying to be optimistic about the impact of my art.  All any artist can do is make work and hope that it gets talked about.  I like to believe that if you exhibit quality work which reflects the beauty of our World, and if you talk about your work with passion, some of that passion rubs off.  I was talking to another artist about this just the other day, and we agreed that, whilst we find ourselves preaching to the converted much of the time, by inviting dialogue, we raise awareness and maybe we shift views a little in the process.  

How do you balance conveying the urgency of the environmental crisis and offering a sense of hope or possibility?

I don’t think I do.  I am not sure that my art reflects urgency in any way.  The making process is so meditative and slow that I think this is what comes through in my work.  The urgency of the climate crisis is undeniable to me, but I don’t see how my work addresses that aspect.  Indeed, I don’t think I want to.  I have a suspicion that people are being put off the need to do something about the climate crisis through a sense of fatigue caused by negative messaging.  All that I can offer is a sense of hope through an appreciation of beautiful things which have been inspired by the World we live in.

You mentioned using lithographs and decals to decorate your work. What imagery do you typically employ, and how does it relate to the themes of landscape, geology, and the Anthropocene?

They are usually photographic images of plant and animal species which are specific to a location.  For example, for the project with Blacknest Fields Rewilding Site in Hampshire, UK, I used images of insects taken by my collaborator, Alex Potts, highlighting the small creatures which are so important to the site.

Could you tell us more about your work, Lunar Scape? What inspired the visual narrative and composition of this artwork?

I was working specifically to an exhibition brief.  New Moon (2020) was a selected exhibition organised by the Lumen Crypt Gallery, Bethnal Green, London.  I wanted to consider the way that the moon gradually reveals itself as the month progresses, so I made a series of moon jars varying the proportion of black and white porcelain for each one.

Every piece you create is unique and delicate, possessing its own identity. Can you share more about the process of making your pieces?

Each piece begins with a slab of pure white porcelain.  Into this I mix wild clays and coloured slips, which I work into the clay, lightly, by a variety of methods.  Once I am happy with the degree of mixing, I roll out slabs, which are then built into cylinders.  These are then shaped and refined, fettled and burnished and finally dried out before firing.  Once fired, they are polished to a high sheen using a wet diamond pad machine, and finally, they are waxed and buffed so that they begin to glow.

Your high-firing process intentionally creates tension, warping, and explosions within the pieces. How do you balance the desire for control with the acceptance of these chance occurrences, and how do they contribute to the story you're telling?

It is true, I am asking for trouble by firing work which has small pebbles and unrefined wild clays incorporated into it, but once a piece goes into the kiln, all ceramicists lose control of the outcome.  From then on, the result is in the lap of the ‘Kiln Gods’!  You learn, very early, that good things and bad things happen in the kiln.  You can make sure that the work is an even thickness and completely dry but, ultimately, you must let go.  I have likened the opening of the kiln after firing to being like Christmas or Armageddon.  Wonderful things occur, but so do dreadful things.  That is part of the magic.

How do they contribute to the story - when the outcome is good, they hint of damage and vulnerability but also of beauty coming from a dramatic process.  Sometimes, the fissures which form around a small pebble or the colours of a grain which has been incorporated, baked to a high temperature and then polished are truly remarkable.  If the firing fails, sadly, the work does not see the light of day.

Could you share more about the steps you take to make your practice have less environmental impact? What advice would you give artists who are shifting their practices to be more sustainable?

This is an area which gives me considerable cause for concern.  I find myself firing fewer and fewer pieces as my conscience pricks me more sharply.  I worry about the amount of energy that I use and the creation of artefacts which will last for thousands of years.  I salve my conscience through knowing that my studio and kiln use solar power; through not firing work which does not show promise at the raw stage, and by recycling as much clay as I can.  I often make a series of work using only clay from my recycling bucket.  When I am harvesting wild clays, I try to take small quantities from areas which are already being eroded, for example, clay which has fallen out of the bottom of a cliff.  

I am very careful about packing work for transporting:  I have not bought bubble wrap for many years now, recycling all packaging that arrives in the house many times, until it becomes so thin that it offers no protection.  I often use wool packaging, which is wonderful for reducing the risk of breakage, and once finished with, can be composted. 

As for advice to others, think about the materials you use and how they are sourced – do you need to glaze?  Could you use natural glaze materials?  Could you reduce the firing temperature?  Could you make do with a single firing?  Is the piece good enough for firing, or should it be recycled whilst raw?  

Art and artists play various roles in the fabric of contemporary society. How do you see artistic practices advancing sustainability and social consciousness?

By example and through engagement and teaching.  By talking about the issues and admitting where you fall short, as well as where you manage to achieve a good level of sustainability and social conscience. 

I would like to see the big public galleries entering this debate on a large scale.  Small venues seem way ahead in this area, but they don’t have such a large voice.

What message or call to action would you like to share with our readers?

We don’t own this planet.  We are custodians of it for a short time.  We have more responsibilities than rights on Earth, and we should take our responsibilities very seriously.  

None of us are perfect.  But if all of us keep the impact of our behaviour on each other and our planet at the forefront of our minds, we can reduce our impact considerably.  Just think about the journey you are taking – do you need to take it?  Do you need to use that form of transport?  Is there a better way?  Do you need that new outfit?  That new car?  Can you refuse that packaging?  And, please, throw away less – less food, less packaging, less stuff!

Learn more about the artist here.

Cover image:

Image by Bridget Macklin.

Portrait Image:

Image courtesy of Robin Shelton.