Welcome to the Clay Kitchen

When people walk past my studio at Crafted, they often do a double take. “Is this a kitchen?” they ask, eyebrows raised, noses sniffing the air for spices. And in a way, it is. But instead of soup and stews, I cook up clay. The Clay Kitchen is what I call this little studio, and it’s the heart of my practice, filled with stories, textures, and echoes of the past.

The space is anchored by a two-sided cast iron sink; sturdy and weathered, a piece that has seen many lives. It’s not plumbed in the traditional sense. Instead, I use an old metal water cooler, a method that feels a little bit like hauling water from a pump, like my great-grandmother once did. Everything here has a story, even if that story is a whisper.

There’s a 1950s Wedgewood stove I used to use for drying out ceramic pieces. Now, it stores bats and glaze samples, but it still watches over the room with its dials and chrome. Right beside it sits a General Electric refrigerator from the same era, its hum long gone, but its charm intact. I keep tools inside that fridge now, but it started its life here as a damp box. Its cool past meets my present rhythm.

The counters where students work were built by the Crafted facilities manager, a little taller than most studio tables because I’m tall and I prefer to work standing…well, they feel like heirlooms. The wooden tops worn smooth by hands shaping bowls and mugs, they offer a kind of daily communion with process and patience. My slab roller, four pottery wheels, open shelving, and set of lockers a mix of items I’ve inherited in the market or found on offer up complete the space, but more than anything, it’s the feeling in the room that makes it a kitchen.

It reminds me of visiting my grandparents’ house. The catalogs on the kitchen table. The glass of a sweet something I swiped from the fridge sweating in the heat. The layered scents of oil, perfume, and dried herbs. The quiet listening and the louder stories. Those kitchens were places of learning and watching, of ingredient lists and whispered histories. In my studio, I hope people feel that same kind of comfort, a place where you're welcomed just as you are, where clay softens under your hands, and where every touch holds the potential to become something lasting.