Thanks to my father’s advice, I threw caution to the wind and gave myself permission to fail, and that was what allowed me to succeed.

Mexican folk art is the most pervasive influence in my artwork. Whether incorporated in my ceramic installations or mixed-media quilts, the compositional strategies of Mexican folk art and religious shrines are at the root.

It was during Steven’s Throwing Gestural Forms workshop that Katie, an entrepreneur and busy mother of two, learned about The Journey Workshop. "It’s a big investment, not just financially but also in time," she shared. "I knew from my previous experience of being in Steven’s classes what a wonderful teacher he is, but I wasn’t sure I would be able to follow through with this time commitment. I reached out to some people who I knew had previously participated in The Journey to learn more. Many of them were already signed up to do it again, which spoke volumes about the kind of growth they found from the experience."

And then the unthinkable happened. My father passed away suddenly during my second semester, which drastically impacted the way I thought about my work – what I was making and why I was making it. Coming from a thinking-through-making experience at CSULB, it seemed the exact opposite was true at UCLA. Everyone was reading Derrida, Solnit, and Lacan – gathering ideas and metaphors as the first step to realizing a piece. I, however, was in mourning, and I needed to rely on my practice to offer respite and on literature to offer answers to questions that have plagued humanity since the beginning of consciousness. Mourning became my life’s work. It was tragically difficult and incredibly lonely.

We’re moving closer and closer to that craftsman ideal but as a collective rather than as individuals. As a group, we are presenting our best in the spirit of social consciousness. We are honoring the traditions of the craft. We are passing knowledge on. Can shokunin apply to a collective? There is craft not only in the creation of pottery but also in the creation of community. We’re striving for both.

As I look ahead to life after the military, I find myself reflecting more on a career that was unexpectedly full of art. By honoring those with whom I served and their families, I was able to grow as an artist and, for the most part, keep up with art industry trends. I realized that even though I enjoyed my time as a soldier, whether good or bad, I was happiest whenever the things I was doing involved art.

Making pots from the same earth that grows our food is important; I want my work to connect the user to the place that sustains them.

My work often stems from my identity as a Mexican American woman and my personal family history. My interest in creating these objects arose from my fear of these processes – processes such as traditions in cooking, sharing a meal, language, and other daily rituals – being lost and forgotten through the generations; processes such as traditions in cooking, sharing a meal, language, and other daily rituals.

These objects have held the full spectrum of my life’s experiences, but perhaps the greatest catalysts have also been my greatest challenges.

So many emotions flooded me: pure joy, contentment, and the satisfaction of a wholesome journey. This month's FREE article.

"Life has a particular orography. The gravitational forces that sediment our biographies are a complex brew of time and memory. The awe and fascination with which we experience our journey collide, more often than not, with the harshness of the terrain. In this constant flow of becoming, we crave order." November's FREE article.

It was a moment in time, at a remote place in the middle of the rural Midwest USA, where three potters from far apart streams segued into one river. Before the current era of divisiveness, before the great illness that plagued the planet, beyond neighbor fighting neighbor, and before the world began to split apart, these potters, Joy Brown, Ching-Yuan Chang, and Ken Bichell, brought gifts of clay, fire, and spirit.

"I could search for a storyline that would ground my practice and allow my work to be a new chapter in a long-running series. But I think it best to choose the stories I want to leave behind. For me that includes sea stories, tea, and any odds or ends that make me smile and reach for that cup in a sea of cups in an overstuffed cupboard."

The name Roxanne Swentzell may conjure sculptural images in your mind, but she is more than that. “We’re all sensing our world in unique ways; that’s scary for people who want to think we’re not diverse and unique. But even though we’re all part of this whole thing together, there are real differences in experiences. Allowing ourselves to acknowledge that will help us start to have self-respect, to give quality attention to our own unique selves, or others, in ways the label world doesn’t."

Resigned to the role of interloper, I show up to a firing with my modest collection of objects, sleep on the floor, and take the night shifts. All worth it because the information left on an object through wood-firing is something I respond to deeply.

Centering is a lifelong discipline that demands consistent practice, which is akin to spiritual practices across many world cultures. I've always taught wheel-throwing by emphasizing the tangible and physical parts. Method, form, and position need to become habit. In Japan, I always tell students, it is said you are not yet a potter until you make your first 1,000 pots. This adage is a commitment we make to ourselves about what kind of life we want, and it is a foundation for me.

Pottery wasn't made when there were threats of war and bloodshed. When examining ancient sherds and tool marks, one can sense the kind of peace and calm that it took to make long, unwavering parallel lines, to notch the rims with careful repeating indentations, and to spend the time making what was to become more than a simple container. It was a life-providing vessel used to feed the next generations.

The conference theme, Fertile Ground, references California's agriculture and the Farm to Fork movement, acknowledges the abundance of clay in the state, and celebrates intergenerational artistic growth spawned through academic programs and community art centers. We kept working on these projects and more while remaining hopeful that the Sacramento conference would indeed take place in person in 2022. Rallying the involvement of artists, galleries, and other art venues that were new to NCECA was a highlight. I encouraged their exhibition ideas, supported their inquiries, and fostered their participation in one of the largest art events to ever take place in the Sacramento region. FREE ARTICLE!

Tattooing sings many notes parallel to the song of ceramics. Like ceramics, tattoo craftmanship exposes the fluency and experience of the maker. Drawing and putting in a great line is an example of fine craftsmanship. Pairing exceptional line work with the individual’s conceptual engagement of image elevates the craft, just as the potter’s concept of a mug elevates the form.

‘On Earth, time is marked by the sun and moon, by rotations that distinguish day from night that had led to clocks and calendars. The present was a speck that kept blinking, brightening, and diminishing, something neither alive or dead. How long did it last? One second? Less? It was always in flux; in the time it took to consider it, it slipped away.’ - Jhumpa Lahiri "The Lowland"

I looked her dead in the eye as I resentfully told her, “I will never be a potter.”

Awake and distraught. Rather than charging, my phone has drained to a dim 2%. I remind myself that I’m not superstitious. By 9:30 AM, I’m fully set up, my power bank, phone, and Square are all communicating. I find some courage, hang my sign. Ready.

My family’s story has been one of resilience and hope, of making the most from the least, and of appreciating the smallest of things.

I found a bat with her handprint on it. It was a bit uncanny – just how perfect it was. I keep it right above my wheel, leaned on a little ledge of brick. She was and will forever be fundamental to my connection to pottery. I know my grandmother would be proud of the potter I am today.

My dreams enabled a strong sense of empathy and openness to different ways of thinking. They have fueled a fearless, and sometimes reckless, desire for new experiences. They have allowed me to visualize possibilities and embrace opportunities.

A kiln lies at the center of this story, a brick arch built on a concrete slab next to a needing-to-be-painted red barn.

"My worldview as an artist has grown and changed. I no longer think of art in terms of craft, livelihood, discipline, practice, or process. Art is BISQUE. Believe, Include, Sustain, Question, Understand, and Evolve; I am all this."

"I may start with some ideas and questions, but the wisdom is in the soil, just like the wisdom is in the clay. This properly humbles me, reminds me what my capabilities are, what my limitations are, and how generous the material is, how fortunate I am to continue exploring."

...take leaps of faith to experiment, during this time while no one is around to watch.

Studio Potter dedicates this story to all the teachers and students returning to the studio classroom this fall, whatever that may look like for you.

The kiln temperature was crawling past 2100 degrees Fahrenheit and we were running out of wood. It felt like we weren’t going to make the last two hundred degrees.

I have defined happiness as being at peace. I am at peace with myself while working on my sculptures in the studio. All life’s problems are still in my mind, but working in clay puts them in pause. I feel excited, productive, and with a purpose in life, but in these uncertain times the connection to my artwork feels different. Baking sourdough bread has become another way to be at peace with myself.

Seeing the problem of woodfiring’s lack of exposure and accessibility to the general public, I set out to find a solution that provided engagement in this immersive experience to my immediate community.

Light streamed into the dimly lit world of my convictions, and with it, in time, came myriad possibilities...

Pots come to life when they are in use at the table and kitchen sink. The story of how pots come to us and worm their way into our lives can be an added bonus.

Writing a new book is like a new love. Initially, you find yourself infatuated. You can’t stop thinking about it, and you feel driven to talk about it. But the more you do, the more you see your family and friends’ eyes glaze over, and you decide it would be better for your real relationships if you divert your talking to writing.

Being on a platform; as, kind of, the token transgender individual in the clay community takes its toll. When I lectured at NCECA in 2017 on the panel "Gendered Clay," I had no idea what would happen. I could only tell my own story. I thought it was worth sacrificing my anonymity.

This past fall, I needed to learn how to make plates. Specifically, plates similar in form and decoration to those from Staffordshire, England, in the early 1800s.

If Bernard’s Leach’s A Potter’s Book was the old testament for many aspiring studio potters internationally, Daniel Rhodes’ Clay and Glazes for the Potter was the new testament for those living in North America.

When students rush into the classroom in the morning, beaming with excitement about a new technique they saw on Instagram, something good is happening. They are hooked on ceramics and fully engaged in the process.

There is satisfaction in developing the best iterations of a form, creating an aesthetic harmony among them, and making decisions that fulfill my desires for their function as utilitarian objects.