My best pots have a soul. They are born; I do not “make” them.
Sunlight passing through a thinly veined petal gives me goosebumps. Colors on a spring hillside and a field of ripening corn breathe new life into me. I love the swirl of a tightly closed bud and the curve of a cresting wave.
My growing understanding of my materials opens me to the possibilities of developing forms and glazes. An inexpressible process takes place between my hands, my perception of the natural world, and my medium. I’m learning to let that happen.
The best pots sing. The song that’s heard is a reflection of both the potter and the listener.