I am a potter,
Working with red earthenware clay
Like it has been dug in the region for the last
I make pots, tiles and sculptures with that clay.
The potters wheel is my tool…
I like to work as straightforward as the clay allows me.
The softness of the clay, the action of the throwing,
Leaving my mark,
Making it mine.
I make slipware,
Creamy white slip covering the terracotta,
Sgraffito revealing it again.
Brushstrokes and trailed lines
Building up a story
Bring trained as a slipware potter,
Living in a town with a history of ceramics,
I can see my work in a historic perspective.
Without feeling tied to that tradition I can draw from it,
Borrow from it and adapt things.
Its humour, its low profile.
Making slipware-ceramics has made me a village potter.
Being a part of a community.
A place in the cycle.