Beginnings

Pottery wasn’t part of the plan. Jet lag, factory floors, and production lines — that was the plan.

For years, I traveled regularly to Asia for work. To Taiwan, Hong Kong, and China, showing up at factories and troubleshooting problems, optimize production lines, and keep the wheels of industry turning. Faster, better, and cheaper. You know the golden trifecta of product development, or any business for that matter. The days were long, often starting with mouthful of coffee and ending with a faceful of pillow. And in between? Stress, spreadsheets, and the occasional prayer for a miracle.

Weekends were sacred, though. That was when I became a wanderer, a pilgrim seeking out local cafes and tea houses. Tucked into quiet corners with the hum of conversation and clinking of cups, I’d take a seat, take a sip, and exhale. Inhale, exhale, and unwind before the pressure of Monday once again comes bearing down upon me like a hydraulic press. Slow, sturdy, and forceful.

One quiet afternoon, as steam curled up from a delicate ceramic cup in front of me, I found myself staring at it a little too long. Something about its form? Maybe its texture, or the warmth that it held? It spoke to a different part of me. A tired, yet curious, maybe even narcissistic part of me. The voice in my head spoke back: "I could make this."

This was right around the time I turned thirty, so I was ripe for new beginnings. For my birthday, I traveled overseas once again, but this time for some soul-searching and adventure, solo in Japan for two weeks. The photos are here are from a quiet noodle place that I had stopped at for lunch in Arashiyama. Here, too, I was greeted with a warm cup of tea as I enjoyed the quiet of the garden in front of me and the coziness of the ambiance behind me. Another short, peaceful retreat, where I rested my feet as I slurped up my bowl nishin soba.

After returning home, I signed up for a pottery class at the local community center. After three class sessions, ten years, and a global pandemic later, here I am. Forty years old and once again ripe for new beginnings, starting a website and pondering a career change.

Making pottery has become a way for me to slow down, focus, and rediscover the kind of joy that comes not from efficiency, but from intention. Every piece I create is a quiet nod to those tea houses and calm corners that kept me sane and recharged my soul. Pottery my way of holding onto the pause button and, maybe, helping someone hold theirs too.

Thanks for stopping by. Let me know if you, too, find a mug or vase that makes you want to stare at it just a tad longer than you normally would.