Tell us about your practice and how you came to making?

I’ve always been an artsy kid, and I fell in love with clay in university. As a handbuilder, I’ve discovered a quiet rhythm in the meditative flow of working with the material. For over ten years, I’ve been making professionally, letting my life experiences weave their way into the studio and into the pieces I create.

Do you have a ritual when it comes to making/designing work?

I don’t think I really have a ritual for working or designing. My mind is usually just taking in the community around me. Watching how friends, family, strangers, and students interact with the objects around them. I’m curious about what people are drawn to, how they handle objects, and how those objects are shared. Sometimes these observations find their way into my work, and I make pieces that I feel could exist naturally within their worlds.

Your pieces feel full of movement — color, texture, curves, and layers working together. Where does that sense of motion come from in your process? What tends to spark a new body of work?

The spark for new work is hard to pin down. When I’m in sculpture production, I’ve found it helpful to plaster the wall with drawings of pots as a way to think through forms. I typically begin by making the body of a vessel, letting it firm up slightly before adding ruffles and cutting away or altering the form. Because of my relationship with clay, I usually work on four to six pieces at the same time while also making Nerikomi production.

You use the Nerikomi technique in much of your work. What initially drew you to this process, and what keeps you returning to it?

Nerikomi has been a technique I’ve worked with for over eight years. I think I first fell into making nerikomi surfaces through my love of showcasing different clay bodies. Over time, I became dedicated to its evolution, a laborious process of pigmenting, layering, and compressing. For me, nerikomi agate surfaces mirror life. Each layer speaks to growth, while the movement holds the rhythm of highs and lows, positive and negative interactions, events that happen to a person, quiet moments, achievements, and milestones. Like a life lived, the layers build on one another, shaping the story that runs through every piece.

Your glaze work often feels fluid — as if it’s cascading over the ridges and settling into soft drips along the surface. How do you achieve this effect, and what drew you toward this more expressive use of glaze?

My glazed vases often feel like an optical illusion. I love watching how people investigate them. Some who work with glaze can sometimes decipher the surface mystery, while others simply see it as glaze. Shall I reveal the magic? Most of what you’re seeing comes from embedded glass beads interacting with pigmented glaze. Glaze itself is essentially glass, and the beads melt at about half the temperature of glaze. What you end up seeing is the glass meeting the glaze, with a delicate crystal outline forming where they come together.

The ruffle has become a recurring element in many of your vases. How did that form develop, and what does it allow you to express within the material?

Back in 2013, I started embedding glass beads into clay, mostly to use up leftover beads from old jewelry projects. At first, they sat on the surface, a bit like the bedazzling tools I played with as a kid, and eventually I began building with coils filled with beads of all sizes with mixed results. I found a ratio that consistently created the most interesting surfaces while keeping the pieces structurally sound. Once I had a reliable building method, I began exploring forms and volume, this is where the ruffles really came to life.

You host regular community dinners in your home. What inspired you to begin that tradition, and how does gathering people around a table relate to your work in clay?

For me, community is everything. I love bringing people together, sharing food, stories, and moments that become memories. Watching people interact and learn from each other is what inspired Community Dinners, which I host at my home six times a year with roughly 60-100 guests. These dinners are free and potluck-style, a space where contributions are encouraged and everyone belongs. I make the dinnerware so that each meal is served on something handmade, that makes the food feel intentional, the space feel warm, and everyone feels seen and cared for.

Is there anything you’ve dreamed of making, but haven’t yet?

If you had asked me this question last year, I would have said my next goal was a large-scale installation with clay at its center. I’ve since been offered a solo show next year, and I’m now in the process of creating a 2,000-piece dinnerware installation. Looking beyond that, I’m turning my attention to tiles. I’ve been dreaming of reimagining bathrooms and kitchens of my own and friends’ with handmade tile work. It’s going to involve lots of testing, but I’m excited to start moving into a space that blends ceramics with interior design.

What’s next for you?

The next milestone on the horizon is finding a new studio. I’ve worked out of my home for the past four years, and I’m ready for sunlight to cascade into a dedicated space, one that can hold a showroom, a production area, and room to host classes, taught by me or other artists and makers in Philly. Opening a public-facing studio is both daunting and thrilling, and I’m excited to fully commit to this next chapter. I’m also in the process of a full rebrand, which, of course, is just another large project to add to the many I’m taking on this year. I’m antsy with anticipation to see how the new studio and branding will work together to support my vision, and I hope it will be well received.