My practice is shaped not only by what I make, but by how I make it.

Working across porcelain and textile, I am conscious that every material carries ecological weight — clay, glaze minerals, water, electricity, fabric, thread, timber substrates, and found elements. I do not claim purity within contemporary systems, but I aim to practice with attention and restraint.

Reciprocity begins in the studio.

It looks like reclaiming and recycling clay wherever possible.
It looks like using glaze tests as archival studies rather than discarding them.
It looks like monitoring water use and returning clay water to the garden.
It looks like packing kilns thoughtfully to honour the energy required for each firing.
It looks like learning to reuse the sediment from my settling tank rather than treating it as waste.

In textile works, it looks like sourcing materials thoughtfully — often working with reclaimed textiles that are unwanted, gifted, or otherwise overlooked. It looks like giving new life to remnants and fibres, minimising offcuts, and selecting materials intentionally rather than accumulating excess. It looks like treating every component — porcelain, fibre, timber, bead — as part of a considered whole.

The organisms that inspire my work — fungi, mosses, lichens, soil communities — endure through balance and interdependence. My studio practice seeks to mirror those ecological principles. The archive I am building is not only conceptual; it is materially informed by the same rhythms of restraint, reuse, and regeneration.

I am interested in making only what feels necessary — refining rather than expanding, consolidating rather than producing excess.

This practice is not about perfection, but about alignment — a quiet attempt to contribute, in small ways, to cycles of renewal and restoration.