Exploring Clay: My Journey with Ceramics
“Don’t think about making art; just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it’s good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they are deciding, make even more art.”
— Woody Allen
“In England, there is a dividing line between artists and illustrators, who are thought inferior to painters. Well, that’s absolute rubbish. Some of the most creative work is being done in children’s books. In Japan, everything is art. They don’t say painting is better than ceramics or dress design.”
— Brian Wildsmith
Three Collections: Finding Art in Clay
In 2017, I set up a studio intending to translate my cancer experience into a visual form. I had imagined painting as my medium, yet something about the process felt forced and disconnected—as if the canvas resisted the rawness of what I wanted to express.
Then, I discovered clay.
What began as an experiment soon became an obsession. The ability to shape, mold, and build felt liberating—a form of expression that embraced imperfection rather than resisting it. Unlike painting, where an image is fixed once the brushstroke lands, ceramics invited me into a dialogue with the material itself.
I started with classes at Santa Monica College and the Pasadena Art Center, learning the basics. But I quickly realized that the wheel wasn’t for me—too structured, too symmetrical. Instead, I found my rhythm in hand-building techniques, exploring the sculptural possibilities of coil and slab construction. These methods allowed me to layer textures, manipulate form, and embrace the unpredictability of the kiln.
Clay, I learned, was a teacher. It cracked when pushed too far, collapsed when unbalanced, and yet, in its most fragile state, it held the possibility of transformation.
Candle Holders: The Beauty in Breaking
My first honest exploration of ceramics took the form of candle holders, an attempt to play with vertical compositions. I combined glazed ceramic spheres with twisted glass rods, assembling them into delicate towers that rested on wooden bases.
One day, while assembling a piece, one of the ceramic balls shattered. My first instinct was frustration—I had spent hours perfecting the form. But instead of discarding it, I remembered the Japanese art of Kintsugi—the practice of repairing broken pottery with gold, highlighting the cracks rather than hiding them.
Using gold lacquer to trace the fractures, I glued the pieces back together. Instead of looking broken, the ceramic felt whole again—but in a new, more profound way.
Kintsugi embodies a philosophy I deeply connect with: wounds don’t diminish beauty—they define it. Repairing something, whether an object or a part of ourselves, can make it even more valuable, resilient, and honest.
Watch: Kintsugi – The Japanese Art of Repairing Broken Ceramics