Somewhere along the way, I realised I was seeing the models in front of me not just as inspiration, but as art themselves. A simple study of form sparked something in me. If I could see all these varied bodies as beautiful, perhaps I could begin to see myself that way, too.

Clay came later, at PotStop, a small studio on Bristol’s harbourside, where I generally put the lovely Neil’s studio to the test. I became fascinated by throwing and began booking more courses and classes across Bristol to keep developing my skills. I even convinced my poor mum to drive me all the way to the tip of Cornwall for a week-long pottery course in the fresh winter air. (It was actually a lovely trip.)

As well as throwing, I’ve always been playing with hand-building. Naturally, and unintentionally, my life-drawing and ceramic practices came together. I began working with simple, soft shapes and leaned into the natural dimples and ripples formed between my hands and the clay, particularly how they echoed dimpled thighs. Rather than smoothing those marks away, I began to see the value they gave to the emerging figure or vase.

Across both my thrown and hand-built work, I’m still exploring when to intervene and when to let the clay speak for itself. Over time, I’ve played with refining the details further, the boundary of vase and human form, when one becomes another, and simply exploring new ideas. This has resulted in a number of failed attempts and mild kiln disasters, but also a growing family of ladies, bums, bellies, pots, vases and more.

My practice is an ongoing reminder to see and hold myself with love and patience, and I hope that when one of my pieces finds a home, it carries a little of that essence with it - inviting you to see yourself as art, too.