I found pottery during one of the hardest times in my life. I was struggling deeply with depression and anxiety — my thoughts constantly racing, my body always tense. A friend invited me to a pottery class, and I said yes.
From the moment I sat at the wheel, something shifted. The slow rhythm of the clay, the focus it demanded — it quieted the noises in my head. For the first time in a long while, I could breathe. Pottery became a kind of moving meditation, a ritual of grounding and presence.
In the beginning i thought my craft would lean more towards mugs. I’ve always loved them, coffee and tea just taste different when coming from a special vessel. There’s something sacred about that simple act, like a small daily spell of comfort. My early mugs were playful and witchy, full of charm and whimsy.
Then one day, I made an altar — and everything changed. That piece opened a new doorway in my creative path. I began to see clay not just as a craft, but as a way to make space for meaning, ritual, and connection. My work slowly shifted toward the spiritual and the sacred. I still make whimsical creatures and fantasy-inspired pieces that make people smile, but my heart also lives in the work that invites stillness and reflection — pieces that hold story, energy, and intention.
Pottery has become more than an art form for me. It’s a practice of healing, a quiet conversation between my hands, earth, and spirit. And I feel like my journey with clay is only just beginning.