Why Do I Work With Clay

I’m often asked why I chose to work in ceramics as opposed to other media. I find it a strange question. For me, it’s more a case of why wouldn’t I work with clay? I shall try to shed some light on my choices.

When I was a child, all of my pocket money was spent on art materials. All my birthday and Christmas presents were art related. I would spend hours making things - sewing, knitting, papier-mâché, painting, chalking, Plasticine, Play Doh, cogs and wheels, nailing things, paper sculpture, DAS clay. My mum and nana would always comment on me being quiet and dreamy and good at ‘making things’. They were always impressed by my creations and were infinitely encouraging.

My nana taught me to sew at a very young age. She showed me how to cut out, hand sew, insert elastic, embroider all manner of stitches, and how to use her old Singer sewing machine. I carried this through to GCSE level at school, being alternative and making around half of my own clothes, mostly from my imagination and cheap fabrics such as gingham.

At high school I had the most amazing art teacher, Miss Bradwell. She was young, trendy, and strict. That one teacher who made the greatest impact on one’s education.  I would spend many of my lunchtimes in her room and she would show me and my friend how to do batik, tie-dying, weaving and other random processes that would aid our creations.

I left school and went off to college to study Display, Exhibition and Design. This course gave me a huge grounding in all kinds of media - from ceramics to graphics, photography to paper sculpture, drawing to woodwork.  We even did some creative writing.  I studied long days and had a ridiculous commute, but I learned a great deal. With the exception of photography, I was pretty accomplished in all of my subjects. However, I think my biggest lesson was recognising I had imposter syndrome - always thinking I was inferior in most ways compared to my peers. Looking back, I wasn’t. Hindsight is 20/20.

Throughout the rest of my life, I have always relied on my creative skills, design engineering, imagination and the ability to be good with my hands. My daughters always had fabulous costumes, amazing birthday cakes and outlandish bedroom designs.  My teaching practice saw me noted as quirky, unusual and unorthodox. There seemed to be no limit to what I would try, and mostly I achieved my imaginative ideas.

In 2021, after a career as an ICT teacher and a stint living in Africa, I returned to college to study for an Art Foundation. Life throws us opportunities, and I was very privileged to be in a position to embrace this one. As part of my course, we had a short module on ceramics, and I loved it. My imagination was fired up and I could see so many possibilities. It was like playing with Plasticine on a tray in my grandparents’ living room all over again. Getting messy with clay and moulding and sculpting it into finished pieces was deeply fulfilling.

As I became increasingly absorbed in clay, I started to recognise affinities between my own work and that of other ceramic artists whose practice felt close to my own - those who use clay to express personality, story, and emotion rather than function alone.

I became drawn to artists such as Mark Smith, whose surfaces and quirky fish hold texture and imagery that have a unique voice. David William Sampson’s work I find fascinating for its quirkiness, playfulness, and individual branding model  - every piece feels like it’s caught mid-story, full of feeling and emotion.

Fleur Schell and Sally Walk both resonate deeply with me because of their surface design. Their work displays humour, whimsy, and character, incorporating excellent mark making and layered technique - something I strive for in my own creations. I recognise in their figures the same balance of mischief and melancholy that lives in my own characters, Scrawny, Deaders, and Lady Delores.

Jean Tolkovsky and Lucy Baxendale inspire me for their use of vague surrealism and emotion. Their work combines illustration with sculpture, proving that storytelling can live inside form, not just on the surface.

Like all of these artists listed, and many others, I’m fascinated by how clay creates a record of a creative process, imagination and a story.  It captures something fleeting and makes it tangible. Clay becomes not just the material, but a record of a period in time that is captured for posterity.  It will date and evolve but will leave a physical form that holds imagination and memory for a very long time.

My tutor, Chris Malham, an amazing man, taught me in an individual way, as I basically gate-crashed the ceramics studio for the remainder of my Foundation course. He gave me a very strong skill set in basic ceramics, and I ran with it. I built my own studio in the garden and purchased a second-hand kiln. Ceramics consumed my life, and I was like a sponge learning as much as possible.

I enrolled on a Level 3 course and then followed this up with my master’s degree. I've since updated my kiln, both in size and modernity, and have refined the aspects of ceramics that I enjoy most. I have a slab roller and a wheel and have a plaster moulding section in the garage. I visit fairs, exhibitions, and galleries obsessively. My family are incredibly supportive in my endeavours.

When I think about who I’m making for, I don’t picture a particular audience. I make for the curious - those who notice detail, who see humour in melancholy, who are moved by things that are slightly off-centre. I couldn’t design work that sits in the middle lane.  That’s not my bag.  I prefer to follow my instincts and invite a story, a reaction, a small conversation.

Essentially, I’m making to connect - with people, with humour, with those who appreciate things a little different. The characters that have emerged in my work so far - Scrawny, Deaders, and Lady Delores - all carry traces of that ethos. They speak of loss, absurdity, and endurance, but always with a wry smile. My focus remains on the humour and that’s what I’d like others to see first and foremost.

So now that my history is laid out, and it’s obvious that I can work in many different media, I need to revisit my original question of why I work in clay. Firstly, I’ve learned to try to control the imposter syndrome and recognise that I am actually a bit nifty at creating things in general, and that I have a strong imagination.

Whilst I love making things, and I can work in several different media, the one that I gain the most satisfaction from is ceramics. For me, it is the whole process - the design, the engineering, the building, the refining and then the firing*. Working each stage towards the next brings problems to overcome. Each piece brings different challenges, and nothing is ever the same. I find true fulfilment at each stage and love being engrossed by it all.

Yes, this is somewhat possible with other media, but none of them - none at all - fit me as well as working with clay. It has that intangible, smile-inducing warmth that no other medium has ever given me. With clay, I feel completely at home, wearing something that fits me perfectly, like an old pair of dungarees.

*Those who know ceramics will observe that I have missed out glazing in the above paragraph. It is not an accident. Nothing is ever a perfect fit and for me, I find glazing a trial. But not that big a trial that I don't still get something from it and cannot find a fulfilment of sorts. It’s just my least favourite aspect.

In my MA, I’ve been encouraged to identify why I use narratives - a question that, for me, initially felt odd. I don’t consciously choose narrative as a tool; it’s simply the way my imagination works, something I have learned through study. I think in stories, in characters, in small acts of drama. Clay gives those stories form - it allows me to build them into being.

Working narratively lets me merge my past and present selves: the child who played with Plasticine and imagined tiny worlds, and the adult artist who now shapes those worlds in fired earth. The stories give the clay a purpose, and the clay, in return, gives the stories life. That exchange is where I find my voice.

My practice juggles storytelling, sculpture, and imagination. By combining anthropomorphic narrative with a process-based medium, I explore both humour and pathos. The use of character incorporates themes of extinction, survival, and absurdity from a place of amusement rather than explanation. In doing so, my work shows how contemporary ceramics can go beyond utility - as three-dimensional storytelling.