Some dreams begin long before the building exists.
I don't have a ceramic studio. At least not in the traditional sense.
There isn't an ideal dedicated workshop waiting for me somewhere in the countryside. No shelves full of glazes. No kiln quietly humming in the corner. No beautiful workbench by a large window overlooking an orchard.
Not yet.
And yet, I honestly believe my studio already exists.
I guess life has taught me to be as resourceful as possible with whatever I have at hand, and there is a sense of joy in that challenge.
So, I am making my studio alive through skills and activities. That does not mean I am not already pinning ideas on Pinterest about studio design, inspiration and how I want to organise the flow. Of course I am. But I am also trying to live it from now.
How do I do that?
Through books, experiments, courses, conversations, ideas scribbled in notebooks and, especially, afternoons covered in clay.
And through the quiet excitement that comes from slowly learning a craft.
Some people might call that waiting. I don't. Again, the journey is key, and somehow I've noticed I don't even use the word “destination” as much anymore. I keep thinking about direction instead. Direction feels alive. Destinations sound finished.
When I look back, I realise my relationship with clay started much earlier than I remembered.
As a child I loved drawing, painting and modelling little figures from clay. I didn't know it then, but there was something magical about taking an idea that only existed in my imagination and giving it physical form.
Looking back now, it almost feels like a kind of manifestation.
Making something that wasn't there before. From mind to material.
Life, however, has an interesting way of reshaping our paths.
As I grew older, practicality slowly took centre stage. Our family's financial situation naturally pushed me towards entrepreneurship. I genuinely enjoyed building businesses, but if I'm honest, making a living became the priority.
For many years I thought creativity had been left behind.
Now I realise it never disappeared.
It simply found different materials.
Businesses. Projects. Ideas. And eventually...
Colours and clay found me again.
Looking back, I realise clay kept quietly appearing throughout my life.
Sometimes it was a museum. Sometimes it was a handmade bowl in a café. Sometimes it was a tiny shop in Shanghai called Spin.
I used to visit sometimes because of work, sometimes for pleasure. Not always leaving with an item. Sometimes just leaving inspired.
They combined contemporary design with traditional craftsmanship from Jingdezhen, and every piece came with the story of the artist who made it.
Looking back...
I think I was collecting clues.
Other times it became slightly more impractical.
I once bought a handmade mug while backpacking through India. Then carried it through another four cities in my backpack.
Somewhat ridiculous, until I arrived in Agra and bought something bigger. Details for the future. LOL.
All worth it.
Every time I drink coffee from that mug now, I am transported straight back to that trip.
Funny how a simple mug can remember things better than we do.
Phuket was different. This time I wasn't admiring someone else's work. I was jumping on the creation wheel.
In fact, I signed up almost as soon as I arrived, which meant that for the rest of my stay I drank coffee from a mug I'd made myself.
John made one too.
Looking at them side by side is still hilarious. One is calm. One is... considerably more colourful.
I'll let you guess whose is whose.
However, I still wasn't really making on a casual basis.
It wasn't until the years after Covid, between Spain and Thailand, that I finally returned to the wheel. I joined my local ceramic association, started attending studios again, and slowly rediscovered something I hadn't felt in a long time.
I lost track of time.
And in today's world, that's becoming one of my favourite feelings.
I've realised that clay is teaching me far more than pottery.
It's teaching me patience.
You can't rush drying.
You can't negotiate with physics. Every shortcut eventually introduces itself. Sometimes as a crack. Sometimes as a collapsed bowl. Sometimes as an unexpected lesson.
Your hands often learn before your mind understands.
And perhaps my favourite lesson of all... many beautiful pieces begin as rather ugly lumps of clay. There is something wonderfully hopeful about that.
Another unexpected gift has been learning to appreciate imperfection.
Years ago I admired flawless pieces. Today I often find myself drawn towards bowls with tiny irregularities, subtle textures and fingerprints that quietly remind you another human being made them.
Maybe that's why the Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi resonates so deeply with me.
Imperfections don't always reduce beauty.
Sometimes they become its personality.
Lately I've also been creating simple things for our home.
One of my favourite little projects came from a broken bamboo lamp.
Instead of throwing it away, I made a ceramic holder that gave it a second life.
Is it perfect?
Not even close.
Do I smile every time I walk past it?
Absolutely.
It reminds me that creating isn't always about making something new. Sometimes it's simply about giving something another chance.
You will see here that we embark on many projects, and the ceramic journey is another one. With time I have come to realise that, more than projects, they are trees in an orchard. Different plants — or projects — bring synergies to the whole orchard, a bit like in permaculture.
So yes, the studio is becoming one tree, and my development as a ceramist will be documented sometimes a bit more technically in future Field Notes.
In the next few months I will take you around my new projects, my notes from the current book I am reading, and the course on ceramic product development I hope to be taking from September, pending confirmation.
So you will see how, despite not having a dedicated building of my own yet, I am still beginning the journey: exploring a more technical course focused on ceramic product development, while continuing to create pieces through my local ceramic association.
Alongside that, I'm reading Ceramic Art Techniques by DK, slowly building a stronger understanding of clay bodies, glazes, firing, chemistry and materials.
Little by little, I'm creating not only ceramic pieces, but also the knowledge that will eventually support the studio I've imagined for years.
Again...
The studio already exists.
It's simply growing one book, one conversation, one experiment and one slightly wonky bowl at a time.
And honestly...
I wouldn't want to build it any other way.
The building will simply catch up one day.
Next in the orchard
Issue 003 · Growing Mushrooms in Bangkok
Coming soon: John’s notes from a mushroom farm visit in Bangkok, with photos, observations and a closer look at the quiet intelligence of things growing underground.