Since childhood I've been enamored with the world's eclectic medley of color and sound— and enjoyed a meandering journey through the wool and silk of fiber arts, puppetry, ponies and sheep, homesteading, banjo and fiddle, choral singing, mothering, Waldorf teaching… Working with my hands came readily, until I "fell into mud" ! Clay challenged me with things I’d never faced before, and the competence I’d gathered in a lifetime of craftsmanship didn’t translate.

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Making pottery marked a chapter change. At first, it was hard for me to harness the skill of throwing and find the feel in my fingertips. I'd never actually experienced the stepping stones of learning in the same way. I noticed the way I collapsed in on myself and leaned toward giving up over and over again. I found a new inner voice, "Yeh, that's hard. Okay... so just do it anyway." It has become an inner mission generalizing into so many opportunities- the experience of facing something truly difficult, pushing aside the inner naysayer, and not giving up.

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Pottery catalyzed a transition from social to contemplative work. Social engagement was central to all my former artistry. In pottery I find solitude, it proffers a reset, a renewal in stepping aside from outer life.

Sometimes I make things just because the feel of the clay on the wheel is compelling. I'm enamored by the magic of the form emerging. I love the simplicity of the shapes, and the fact that they’re functional, yet elegant. It speaks to the practical side of my being — I make art, and then I eat dinner off it!

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Circling back to my roots, the adventure continues in the place of my creative beginnings in the Berkshire Hills. Our family home hosts my mud studio, in the room dubbed in childhood as the Star Trek Room. This old artist has come home, with her head still in the stars, but her feet firmly grounded in the mud.