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I grew up in a large family. With five children in our house, we did not eat off of hand-made pottery or even mass-produced ceramics; we ate all our meals on plastic plates.  My mom did not want to be cleaning up broken dishes every day.  But, for holidays and special dinners, we pulled out the “good” dishes.  Meals with these special plates emphasized the importance of these events.  Those dishes are still in my mother’s cupboard and every dinner at her house - when those dishes come out - I recall past dinners, the negotiations with my siblings over who got the last deviled egg, or who had to wash those dishes.  This is the role I wish for my pots.  I want them to become part of a family ritual, to be pulled from a cupboard years from now with a lifetime of special dinners behind them.

My pots are silly and animated.  They want to be part of that large loud dinner.  With large handles and feet and soft, full forms feel like characters sitting with you at the table.

Pottery interacts with the user in a very physical and sensual way.  It subtly inserts itself into our lives. Whether it’s your favorite every-day coffee mug or a special tray for deviled eggs, hand-made pots highlight the value of these events in our lives.

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