Year’s End in the Hyland Hills: Lessons from the Studio in 2025
There’s a specific kind of peacefulness that arrives in the Hyland Hills at the end of the year.
Not silence — the magpies still gossip, the breeze still fusses with the gum leaves, the dogs still invent new games that should probably require helmets.
It’s more of a spaciousness.
The season exhaling.
And with it comes that natural moment of looking back — not with spreadsheets, KPIs, or colour-coded life audits (I left that life behind in the corporate archives of 2018), but with curiosity.
What did this year teach me?
What did the studio whisper while I was too busy to notice?
Where did the clay nudge me to grow?
Here are the lessons that rose to the surface, clay-dusted and honest.
1. Slow does not mean stagnant
Handbuilding and wheel-throwing both teach this in different languages.
Slow work still moves.
Slow work still builds.
Slow work still gets you somewhere — usually somewhere more meaningful than the rushed route.
The world might celebrate speed, but clay celebrates presence.
The studio followed suit.
2. Community grows one gentle interaction at a time
This year brought:
• people walking into the TARDIS-studio with stories
• workshop moments that turned strangers into collaborators
• local connections that felt like roots going deeper
• patrons who didn’t just purchase a piece — they welcomed it into their home
It turns out community doesn’t require grand gestures.
Just small, consistent care.
3. Every “mistake” is either a lesson or a new design
2025 was full of experiments.
Some successful.
Some… humbling.
But every single one made me a better maker.
A warped tray became a new style.
A glaze gone rogue gave birth to a future favourite.
A misaligned stamping moment sparked a whole exploration in texture.
Clay is generous with its second chances.
4. Growth doesn’t always look like expansion
Sometimes growth looks like:
• refining
• deepening
• choosing sustainability over scale
• honouring boundaries
• saying no to the opportunities that glittered but weren’t grounded
This year taught me that success isn’t a ladder — it’s a garden.
You tend what matters; you prune what doesn’t.
5. Handcrafted piece holds stories — and becomes part of others’ stories
Pieces left the studio and entered homes where:
• they served birthdays, or serene Tuesday dinners
• they caught herbs from a garden grown with love
• they held snacks for movie nights
• they became part of someone’s daily rhythm
Pottery travels further than we think.
A soft landing into the new year
As the sun drops earlier behind the hills and the studio lights glow through the glasshouse windows, I’m reminded that endings don’t have to be loud.
They can be steady.
Reflective.
Grounded.
Hopeful.
May the last days of the year meet you with gentleness.
May your hands be busy with things you love.
And may 2026 greet you with the same warmth you bring into the world.
Until next time,
Nawsheen, your friendly homebody artist from Murrumbateman.
