I came to clay through a slow drift rather than a sudden decision. My first creative language was photography, particularly of derelict buildings shaped by time and weather. But it began to feel distant—constrained by location and increasingly bound to a screen. I’ve always worked with my hands, first as a chef and now as an osteopath, and when I began working with clay it felt instinctively right. It brought making back into the body.

What began as a hobby quickly became something more deliberate. As a minimalist, I had no interest in accumulating objects without purpose. If I was going to make, the work had to earn its place. Ceramics offered that balance: physical, functional, and deeply absorbing.

Black clay is central to my practice. It absorbs light and invites contact, creating a quiet pull to touch. These pieces are not just decorative; they are grounding and physical, designed to create a connection felt in the body.

My work explores form, restraint and touch. I’m drawn to both curves and angles, to shapes that resist neat resolution. Surface matters more than polish—I favour raw, tactile finishes over glossy perfection.

Alongside this, I work with white stoneware in restrained blue and white. These pieces are calmer, informed by landscape rather than ceramic tradition—especially the sun-washed tones of Greece.

Imperfection is deliberate. I design irregularity; I do not surrender to it. The work is guided by intention, not chance.

I am reacting against identikit perfection and mass-produced ceramics that imitate character without possessing it. I make objects intended to be held, lived with and returned to—pieces that draw you back, quietly but persistently.