I have loved working with clay since I began taking classes as a kid in CT.  Never really much for the precision and repetition of throwing pots, I gravitated toward hand building, leaning into the slumpy, lumpy characters that emerged as I built and molded  pieces coil by coil. 

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Through years of children's book publishing, mothering, and teaching middle school, I slipped in and out of clay phases as well.  Now, with kids grown, I'm happily back in the mud in my brand new home studio. 

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I am fascinated by the way tiny nuances of gesture create personality – even in a shape with no ears, eyes, nose or even proper feet.  Starting from a box or a sphere or, quite honestly, a shape that shows no hope of ever fulfilling its own destiny, I poke and prod and layer and prune my clay pieces until each one begins to emerge as its own entity. A slump here.  A twist there.  How about some arms?  And suddenly a new individual is crying or laughing or getting snippy right there on my table.  Out of chaos comes … character.

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