My earliest memories were of creating, sitting in fabric scraps, watching my Grandpa upholster chairs and my Grandma fold pleats in pillows. Mom designed matching dresses for us. Dad built things. My aunt and I would write backwards letters to each other like Leonardo Da Vinci.
Growing up in the country, I helped plant gardens, built forts, drew on rocks, painted the insides of milk weed pods, and knew that the earth was a magical place. I believe this connection to the earth is also my connection to pottery.
Creating with clay is meditative, as I need to center myself, as well as center the clay. It still amazes me that I can take a deep breath, hold a piece of this earth and watch it grow into a cup, a simple tea bowl, or a leaf covered vase. Each piece seems to choose its own form, its own texture, and its own connection to this world. As these vessels leave my hands and move to yours, they change again, taking on a new life, holding your energy as well as mine. They hold the memory of the earth we share and move forward through the lives we create.