Where it began....

My first time at a pottery wheel was in October of 2019. I’ve played with clay before, making pinch pots and coil projects in middle school, but have never thrown on a wheel. It was something I always wanted to try but never seemed to get around to it. I’ve taken college and graduate classes in sculpture (metals mostly), printmaking, painting, drawing, and photography, but for some reason, ceramics was never at the forefront of my always creating mind.

My son had turned a year old a few months before and I was feeling a bit lost. I was a stay at home mom at the time and freelancing wedding florals every so often. My son was gaining independence and he was no longer the dependent baby I spent so many hours devoted to. I sort of was at a crossroads and wondered now that our baby is turning into a toddler, he needed me less and less each day. (Obviously he still needs me but I digress)

I was getting sleep for the first time in a year since our son didn’t sleep more than three hours straight until he was 13 months old and finally feeling creative again. I wanted to make things and make things I did. I made felt mobiles for friends expecting babies, tried weaving on a loom inspired by a talented friend, and picked up my sketchbook again. I mainly painted before our son, oil and watercolor, but was never very disciplined with it. Oil painting with a toddler was not very fun- I’d get into a rhythm during his nap only to stop once he woke up. Watercolors were trickier for me, so much of it is timing and I can’t time things out with a child. I also was craving a community- as an extroverted introvert, being home all the time took its toll. This was pre-covid times and despite my best efforts to get out of the house, we were here a lot and four grey walls start to play mind tricks.

So I decided to do what I always do when I feel lost- take an art class. I took metal sculpture and painting when I dropped out of law school and had no direction in my life. I took photography when I was nannying after college. And I took printmaking my last semester of grad school as a desperate break from my thesis. Art has always been my refuge and I always return to it when I need some guidance.

But this time I didn’t want to take a college class. My life was too unpredictable and honestly, I didn’t want to worry about a deadline with my family waiting on me at home. So a community class was what I needed. Unfortunately, Jacksonville is not the most art forward city and options were limited. I also wanted this to serve a dual purpose. Art has always been my therapy and I was desperate for some therapeutic care. I was on the other side of a terrible struggle with postpartum depression and was coming up for air for the first time in what felt like forever. Yes, talking with a therapist is crucial, but as someone who has dealt with mental health issues since I was 17, I knew some of the best therapy for me is diving in and creating something.

And then I remembered my mom. When she lost her father, she decided to take a pottery class at our local community college. She needed to get her hands into something and that something was clay. I was in middle school at the time and don’t remember much of what she made or her talking about her class, but I do remember a change. She went from a shell of my effervescent mom after she lost my PawPaw and over that semester I watched the joy come back into her eyes. There was a transformation that occurred in that studio. And at the moment, I wanted to experience it too.

I do want to say that my husband has always been beyond supportive of my creative endeavors. He gives me time, money, resources, and space (our third bedroom is an art studio) to pursue my passions. When I mentioned it, he said do it. We’d figure out logistics later. So that September I signed up for a class on the other side of town. It would be about an hour or so drive with traffic and was once a week. He would leave work early every Wednesday so I could drive across town to play with clay. He is truly a wonderful man.

My first class was hard. I was not a natural and not very graceful. I made a couple wobbly pieces and knew I needed more. More time, more practice, more experience. I was hooked. The class ended and I was bummed because for all the time I dedicated to pottery, I had very little time at the wheel. I needed a new game plan.

But that class did change me. It brought something back to me that was just mine. As a mom, I feel a lot of times I give and give and give. But this thing, this little bit of pottery, was just for me.

A few months later, I somehow stumbled upon a studio 10 minutes from my house. I signed up for another class and had two lessons and that’s when Covid hit. Our classes stopped but the owner of the studio allowed me to come in for studio time. It’s not a huge studio and most days I was the only one there. This allowed me freedom. I started experimenting, started failing, started succeeding. I made all different shapes and sizes and just threw myself, pun intended, into pottery.

I am fortunate to have my mom nearby to watch my son while I am at the studio. I made friends there. I’ve helped others and they’ve helped me. I gained a community.

Simultaneously, I gained confidence in myself and my work. And I truly believe this confidence has bled into other parts of my life. The freelancing I did for wedding florals led to a full-time position as a floral designer, designing weddings with an incredible team and boss who did my wedding. I’ve lost some of that postpartum weight and definitely shed any of my lingering postpartum depression.

And all that led me here. I started sharing my work because I was proud of what I made. That led to me gifting friends and family pieces, which led into requests and commissions. Which led to an etsy shop. Which in turn has led to this website and my little ceramic business. My goal is to keep creating and keep pushing myself. Hopefully something I create, you will love and want!