Once upon a time I stood in a ceramics exhibition and thought about how I wanted to make things, and how making pottery had been an ever present ambition of mine.

The nearest I’d come to ceramics in years were those I ate off, drank out of or dug up as sherds during my time as an archaeology student.

I expected to enjoy myself at the ceramics classes I subsequently joined, but I didn't expect the love of clay to take me over as it has.

Making pottery by hand building is a slow process - much more so than wheel throwing. In this fast moving world slowing down and taking notice is important to me, I want to take time over what I make - I find the wheel a bit speedy.

When hand building the clay can’t be rushed or it will slump and collapse; leave it too long in the air and it will dry and crack, so when building my work I have to pay attention to the weather, to the passing of time, to my own state of mind on the day.

I work with very few definite plans when start a piece, preferring to work instinctively and see the idea in my head become a tangible item (it’s a bit magical really).

The shapes and colours which emerge in my work are rooted in my love of place, in the natural and traditional. I am influenced by landscape, and often find my pots take the shape of the sweep of a hill, the shape of a chimney, or of rounded river pebbles, seeds and plant parts. I'm drawn to decoration which evokes cloud and horizon, the swirl of seawater in a pool, lichen on an ancient tree, or the meandering veins of a leaf. I have an abiding interest in the past; its material culture and lore, and often the shape and decoration of my work show these influences too.