The workshop in winter

In summer I work with the window open, flowers from outside drifting into the corner of my eye. In winter there's nothing out there, and it shows in what I make.

My winter colours come out more muted without my even trying. More plum, more olive green, more broken white. When I look back at the year's pieces by date, you can see the season without checking the calendar.

The clay changes too. With the house at nineteen degrees, the block is harder and needs more working before it rolls out thin, so the petals come out slightly thicker. In August it's the opposite, and the clay has to go in the fridge.

I like that the material has an opinion. A machine wouldn't have this problem, and every piece made in January would be identical to one made in July.

It's the part that can't be explained on a product page, but it's there.