25 Dec Back to My Roots
Recently, I had the opportunity to participate in a wood firing. Not just put a few pieces in the kiln, but really show up. Every day. Loading, firing, unloading.
It had been at least two decades since my last wood firing. I was still an undergrad, and I fell in love with the process. The random finishes that wood ash creates on the forms. The depth and variation it brings. But, it also requires a lot of wood, resources, and access to the kiln. Electric firing is great, but it’s predictable. You can control the results. Wood firing is something else entirely. More spiritual. More primitive. More random. Like watching alchemy unfold right in front of your eyes.
So, I cleared my schedule months in advance. I started by making texture plates. I roll out a slab and press plants from my garden into the clay and bisque fire them to create stamps. They act like a garden journal. A record of what was blooming and where I was when I made them. And they’re a way to create beautiful botanical impressions that pop off the surface.
After rolling slabs directly onto the texture plates, I experimented with new forms and techniques. Some combined wheel-thrown and handbuilt elements. Others were made entirely from slabs. Many had been living quietly in my subconscious for years.
There were pumpkin forms, because come fall, I love all things pumpkins. And making them from clay is surprisingly satisfying. Multi-part vases with handles. Floral embellishments added to thrown pieces. But my favorites were the house lanterns. Small home forms with plant-textured walls and windows cut to let the light shine through. Each one a symbol of the home I was dreaming into being.
And while I’ve been making ceramic work again, I hadn’t created a full body of work in many years. One where I let the creative ideas flow freely. Where I got to experiment. Where nothing was off limits.
The firing itself took about two weeks from start to finish. We loaded both chambers of the kiln, stoked the fire for five days straight, and then helped unload all the work. I immersed myself in the process. It felt like being in a workshop. Long days. Hard physical labor. Pushing myself through the fear to stoke the kiln. The fire shoots out like a dragon.
I was both exhausted and completely lit up.
But it wasn’t just the fire. It was the community.
The artists involved. The conversations that unfolded while stoking the kiln. The process. The time it all takes. The dedication it demands.
There were about a dozen of us. Working artists. Makers. Teachers. People preparing for shows, filling gallery orders, teaching workshops, running craft centers. People doing what it takes to keep creativity at the center of their lives and careers.
And while we were all there for the firing, a different kind of conversation kept coming up. One I didn’t expect.
Websites.
How hard it is to make time for them.
How tech-heavy and overwhelming it all feels.
How quickly things feel outdated.
How we all just want to feel proud of the link we share, but rarely do.
That hit home for me. Because I’ve been there too.
I was once a working artist. Selling work. Showing in galleries. Teaching ceramics to teens and children. Doing everything I could to share my work with the world.
But needing to work a day job slowly pulled me in a different direction. And my focus on clay shifted to design.
While at the kiln, someone mentioned an upcoming artist tour and invited me to participate. I was excited at first. Then came the flood of memories. The early struggles. Designing business cards. Photographing and pricing my work. And especially the part that always tripped me up… my digital presence.
Tech overwhelmed me.
I couldn’t afford to hire a designer. So I tried to figure it out myself.
I came to web design through ceramics. It might not sound like a natural progression. Especially when I tell you that I used to be against anything machine-powered. My husband and I still joke about how much I criticized his gas-powered yard tools, even though they worked faster and better. But I digress.
My first website was made with iWeb, a program on my old Mac. It was basically a glorified blog. This was before Canva. Before drag-and-drop builders. I had no idea what I was doing. I spent far too many hours trying to get even a basic site online. And when people asked for my link, I shared it reluctantly.
It was frustrating. I had a creative voice and work I wanted to share with the world. But I didn’t know how to translate it online.
I remember thinking:
I’m creative. I should be able to figure this out.
I’ve heard so many artists say that.
But the truth is, it is complicated. It takes time to learn. I stayed up late watching tutorials. Reading books. I even went back to school to study graphic and web design. I took online courses. Worked with mentors.
And slowly, I figured it out. First for myself. Then for other creatives, too.
This time, when it came time to make signage, design business cards, and update my website…I wasn’t stressed. I knew exactly what to do. And it reminded me of something important.
My why.
I’ve worked in the design world for over a decade now, with clients from all kinds of industries. But being back in the studio reminded me of the people I love working with most.
Artists. Makers. Dreamers.
These are my people.
I know what it’s like to try to write your own web content while juggling your studio practice. To struggle with design decisions late at night. To feel like your online presence never quite reflects the quality of your work.
And I also know, it doesn’t have to be that way.
You don’t need to have it all figured out.
You don’t need to do it alone.
Sometimes what helps most is working with someone who understands both the creative process and the strategy behind making it work online.
That’s where I come in.
With over a decade of experience in design and marketing — and a lifetime rooted in the arts — I help creatives build websites that feel like an extension of their work. Welcoming. Clear. Supportive. Not overwhelming.
If you’ve been putting off your website or circling back to it again and again without getting it live, I’d love to help.
My work is centered around focused, collaborative Design Days that allow for meaningful progress without a long, drawn-out process.
Let’s build an online home that feels as intentional as the work you create.