Although I began playing with clay in my early childhood it wasn't until around 1990 that I began learning the craft of making pots.

I love making pots... all kinds of pots.

I particularly like the idea that I can make a pot, cook and serve from it, eat from plates and bowls that I have made and just enjoy the beauty of the form of others. Like most potters I'm a very tactile person and it's almost magical to hold a well made, well shaped vessel in my hands. Despite my continual practice of the simple form and line it isn't often I am able to achieve it to any satisfaction in my own work: I believe that I'm destined to forever strive for that one 'perfect' pot.

There is nothing simple about the lines of the wood fired globular fountain, the gas fired 'flower' bowls where the petals twist and curl, or the red/brown vase with its heavily encrusted extrusions. Hand building, or throwing and altering a form are second nature to me and I'm always pushing the clay to see how far it will allow me to have control. My delicate raku pieces are a testament to my faith in the strength of very thin porcelain when subjected to the harsh environment of a raku firing. The sculpture "Maya" was a lesson in patience. My whimsical money banks are a pure labour of love and a throwback to my childhood when I made familiar objects with freshly dug clay.

I particularly love the warm colours of pots fired in a wood kiln and the highly polished surfaces and smoky flashings of pots that have been pit fired. Since moving to a rural area, both of these firing methods are now possible, so plans for outdoor kilns are in the works for sometime in the future.

In short, clay is pure escapism for me - I get to be spiritually transported somewhere else and time loses all meaning - I can and do forget the outside world when playing with the clay. Getting dirty was wonderful when I was a child and it's just as wonderful today.