"She loved the smell of wet dirt the way others might love the smell of roses" Dawn Hewitt
I discovered clay in high school. The soft slip through fingers. The turn of the wheel. The coiling-up by hand. The push, the pull. The functional art. It was an addictive adventure.
Today, my relationship with clay feels both like home and Neverland. In the studio, the clay absorbs me, absorbs time; there, I expand, delving into an enchantment. With a wheel, cool water, soft clay, and a hot kiln, I craft useful stoneware pots.
In recent work, I find echoes of my outdoor explorations. Autumn winds bending tall grass prairie. Sunlight flickering old growth forests. Storm clouds rolling across wide skies. Michigan sand dunes. Lake Superior rocks. Moss-textured bark. Full-bloom flowers. Hiking, skiing, paddling, and camping in backcountry places – all coming to roost amid the clay in my hands.