A studio practice in clay.

The hand and the machine.

Some pieces are wheel-thrown. Others begin as drawings — modeled in CAD, 3D-printed into patterns, cast into plaster molds, and pressed by hand. The methods are not in opposition. The wheel is a tool; so is the printer. What I'm after, in either case, is a surface that holds attention — the kind of object that gets quieter the longer you live with it.

Three kilns.

The studio fires in gas reduction, electric oxidation, and raku. Each kiln has a temperament. Gas pulls the iron out of the clay and the copper out of the glaze; electric is the obedient one, predictable enough for tableware that has to match itself across a dozen plates; raku is for the pieces I'm willing to lose. There is no wood-fire and no soda kiln, though I think about both often.

What I make, and why.

The work is grouped into bodies — sculptural editions, flameware for cooking over flame, a wall series in tile, and an everyday tableware line. Some forms are repeated; most are not. A piece leaves the studio once. If a glaze sings in the kiln, I'll chase it for a season; if the fire takes it somewhere else, I follow that instead.

Buying, commissioning, visiting.

Pieces are listed in the collections as they come out of the kiln. If something you'd like is sold or hasn't been made yet, the waitlist is the right place to start — I write personally when the next piece is fired. For commissioned work, installations, or studio visits, send a note. I read everything.

— From the studio