There is, on my worktable, that suspended moment between idea and material. The one where pencil grazes paper, where form first comes to life in silence, then in clay. These days, I’m working on new pieces that will soon find their way into the shop—sketches turned into porcelain promises.
Two mugs of about eight ounces are slowly taking shape in my hands—one a soft pink, the other a gentle celadon blue, like a spring dawn. They’ll have that clean, balanced line I love, with a delicate rim that welcomes the lips without rushing them. I can already picture them on a bedside table, a sunlit desk, or in that calm morning moment when we take our time.
Alongside them, a wine tumbler is rising—handleless but full of roundness. It fits snugly in the palm, nestling in the hand like a river stone. It evokes summer evenings, long dinners, wine breathing while the world is being reimagined.
And then, just barely sketched, a carved vase. Not simply etched: sculpted on the surface, as if the pattern had grown beneath the glaze. The design rises slightly, catching the light, almost botanical in feel. A piece that tells a story—even when empty.
These creations are still in progress, but they’re already speaking to me. They invite me to slow down, to listen to what the clay has to say.
Coming soon, in the shop…
