Late October in Murrumbateman is all blossom confetti, tomato seedlings and buzzing bees—not pumpkins. But scroll through your feed, and it’s all ghosts in orange hats and ceramic bats perched on mugs. It’s a reminder that the internet’s seasons don’t always match the soil beneath our feet. This year, instead of squeezing my art into the northern hemisphere’s autumn aesthetic, I’m making spring ghosts—playful little spirits with straw hats and seed packets. They’re a love letter to authenticity, even when the algorithm whispers otherwise.

Pick up a handmade mug, and you’re holding history. Clay has carried stories for 30,000 years—from ancient Japanese vessels to Greek amphorae and Bangladeshi cooking pots. In Australia, Indigenous practices remind us that creativity takes many forms. Every handmade piece we use today continues this human story, connecting our hands to earth, fire, and time itself. Pottery isn’t just functional—it is a vessel of culture, memory, and meaning.

Being an artist in 2025 means living in two worlds: one ruled by algorithms and endless content, the other by clay and fire. Pottery doesn’t bend to speed — a mug takes weeks, not seconds, to exist. Its cracks and wobbles aren’t flaws, but fingerprints of real life. This blog explores the radical act of making by hand in a digital age: mugs as anchors in a rushing world, imperfection as proof of humanity, and why clay resists the very systems that try to flatten us.

Every curve of the Whistle & Page logo carries meaning. Born during maternity leave, amidst the shifts of Matrescence, the logo embodies breath, rhythm, and gathering. The whistle calls people together and echoes the comforting sound of a kettle. The prominent ampersand, shaped like a kettle with spouted pages, bridges art & life, stories & pottery, possibility & connection. Encircled in a timeless circle, it symbolises community, wholeness, and ancient practices of crafting together. For its creator, the logo represents more than design—it’s a living emblem of love, creativity, and shared space.

Days after my 40th birthday, I’m reflecting on my last year of being in my 30s—a year of messy courage, wholehearted choices, and bold leaps. I walked away from a toxic job, embraced my creativity, and invested in my small business, Whistle & Page. It wasn’t about paychecks or perfection; it was about clay-stained hands, quiet mornings with my kids, and building a life that feels truly mine. Raw, funny, heartfelt, and liberating, this year was my final, beautiful chapter before stepping into 40 with joy, resilience, and freedom.

In a world obsessed with speed, growth, and disposability, taking weeks to make a single pot is radical. Every handbuilt mug resists the culture of convenience, mass production, and endless consumption. Pottery asks for patience, care, and presence, reminding us that slowing down is revolutionary. Choosing handmade isn’t nostalgia—it’s resistance, a quiet reclaiming of value, soul, and human connection in daily life.

Potters often get asked to justify their pricing, as though handmade pieces must prove their worth in ways mass-produced goods never do. A $65 mug can feel extravagant in today’s economy—but what does it really represent? Beyond clay and glaze, it carries the invisible weight of labour, skill, time, and the courage to run a one-woman art business. This blog explores why handmade pottery costs what it does, what goes into each piece, and why perhaps the question isn’t “why so much?” but “why so little?” when we consider the true value of craft.

Potters often get asked to justify their pricing, as though handmade pieces must prove their worth in ways mass-produced goods never do. A $65 mug can feel extravagant in today’s economy—but what does it really represent? Beyond clay and glaze, it carries the invisible weight of labour, skill, time, and the courage to run a one-woman art business. This blog explores why handmade pottery costs what it does, what goes into each piece, and why perhaps the question isn’t “why so much?” but “why so little?” when we consider the true value of craft.

Pottery is often sold as slow art—measured, intentional, rooted in earth and time. Yet online, it’s sped up, polished, and compressed into 20-second reels. Mugs painted in acrylics, cracks fixed with pastes like Bisque Fix, and influencers assuring, “It’s not a skill thing.” But is that true? Pottery influencers have opened clay to new audiences, but they’re also reshaping how we see craft. Is repair the same as resilience? Is speed harmless, or does it change the way we value clay itself? In a world built on fast scrolls, how do we preserve the meaning of slow hands?

Eleven years ago, I became a first-time parent — not just to a little boy, but to a dream. Whistle & Page was built in the stolen hours of early motherhood, with clay on my hands and courage in my chest. This is the story of how I learned to back myself, build a soulful business from scratch, and reparent the parts of me that never believed this kind of life was possible.

There’s a lovelybeauty in things that don’t last — the fleeting bloom of dahlias, petals drifting like soft confetti in the autumn breeze. I used to cling to permanence, to perfect mugs and endless seasons with my child. But pottery and life have taught me to lean into mono no aware — the tender ache of impermanence that makes every moment more precious.

Some cups hold more than tea. They carry kitchens from our childhood, quiet acts of kindness, and mornings wrapped in fog. My favourite cup isn’t perfect, but it holds memory, comfort, and grief in equal measure — a reminder that what we hold often holds us right back.

Sometimes the things that hold us together are so small, they slip by unnoticed. The whisper of a kettle before it boils. The tilt of a child’s head over her paints. The sigh of a dog settling in the mudroom. These moments will never make the calendar, yet they stitch my life in ways the big milestones never could. Pottery has taught me this — that quiet, unremarkable moments often leave the deepest marks.

A behind-the-scenes look into the creation of The Rooted Rituals Collection — a seasonal, Japanese-inspired body of work designed to honour the small, essential rituals that bring beauty to daily life.

When the world feels too loud and your mind too full, clay has a quiet way of bringing you home to yourself. In this piece, I share my own story of finding calm through pottery — from my struggles with Seasonal Affective Disorder to the circles I hold for families, where clay becomes ancient medicine for busy hearts and tired minds alike.

In this piece, I open the studio door wide and share how the Japanese philosophy of Shu-Ha-Ri — obey, break, transcend — has quietly shaped not just my pottery, but the way I live, parent and create. A gentle reminder that mastery isn’t the goal — becoming is. If you’ve ever felt pulled between perfection and freedom, this one’s for you.

“Matcha Do About Nothing?” is my deep, frothy dive into the myths, rituals and quiet rebellion behind real matcha — and the humble chawan that makes it magic. From shady tea groves in Japan to my clay-covered hands in Murrumbateman, this one’s for anyone who knows tea is more than just a trend — it’s a pause worth savouring.

More quietly swallowed enough — until I chose slow, purposeful days instead. These days, enough looks like muddy paw prints, quiet cups of tea, and weaving my heart into the small things — even when no one is looking.