Not Everything Has to Last Forever
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.
The Cup That Holds More Than Tea
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.
The Smallness That Feels Like Everything
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.
Stillness in the Season: Introducing The Rooted Rituals Collection
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.
Clay as a Compass: Why Pottery is a Quiet Revolution for Our Mental Health
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.
Shu, Ha, Ri and Me: How a Japanese Philosophy Quietly Shapes My Hands, Heart and Home
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?
“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.
What Living Slowly Has Taught Me About Enough
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.
From Breadwinner to Bare Hands: Untangling Self-Worth from a Paycheque
When I left my steady income behind to become a full-time artist, I thought I’d buried my old fears about money and worth. Turns out, they were just waiting for a quiet moment to speak up again. This is a reflection on what happens when your worth has been tied to your payslip for years — and how you gently untangle it, one choice, one conversation, one cup of tea at a time. If you’ve ever felt that pinch of guilt for not “contributing,” I hope these words remind you: you’re adding value in ways money can’t measure — and that is more than enough.
One Artist Date a Month (Because I’m Booked, Literally)
I don’t do weekly Artist Dates — I wish I could! But once a month? That’s my rhythm. And when the calendar clears, I go all in. This June’s Artist Date was extra special because it doubled as a date-date: flaky croissants, smooth hot brown, and a slow morning that led to second-hand bookshop bliss at Canty’s. Room after room of pre-loved pages stacked sky-high, and there — like it had been waiting for me — was the Van Gogh book I’d been quietly manifesting for years. It wasn’t even priced yet. Reader, I claimed it.
We finished with lunch by the water, people-watching like it was our job, and I came home full — creatively, emotionally, and snack-wise. If you need a nudge to pause, refill the well, and chase the kinds of places that light you up — this is it.
Zippy Cups: The Clay Keeps What the Hands Remember
What started as two humble cups for late-night brews and second morning coffees has become a quiet studio staple. In this post, I share the personal story behind the Zippy Cup—how it was born from daily life, tested in the chaos and calm of home, and slowly shaped into something worth sharing. This isn’t just pottery. It’s memory held in clay, and comfort held in the palm of your hand.
Bleeding Love (for Clay): Why I’ve Stopped Cleaning My Wheel
It turns out throwing pottery isn’t like riding a bike—especially after weeks away from the wheel. My hands were rusty, my perfectionism was loud, and Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis was blaring in the background like a personal anthem. In this post, I share what it’s like to fall back in love with clay (mess and all), how not cleaning my wheel has helped me throw more often, and why sometimes the best studio practice is just showing up—muddy, imperfect, and open-hearted.
Carrying Japan in My Hands: A Mother-Daughter Journey Through Clay, Philosophy, and Quiet Inspiration
Japan is more than a place — it’s a quiet garden I carry inside me, blooming with lessons in patience, imperfection, and presence. This mother-daughter journey deepened my love for the Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi — finding beauty in the incomplete and transient — and renewed my commitment to making pottery that holds stories, heartbeats, and a little bit of magic.
Clay in the Laundry Sink: Setting Up a Home Pottery Studio (Without Losing Your Mind… or Your Taps)
You don’t need a sun-drenched studio or a Pinterest-perfect setup to start making magic with clay. You need a patch of space, a lump of mid-fire, and permission to make a joyful mess. From my early days elbow-deep in clay at the laundry sink to stashing my wheel under the table on tri-dollies, this post is a low-consumption, high-encouragement guide to starting your own home pottery space — no fancy tools or panic purchases required. Just a few humble bits, a sprinkle of humour, and a whole lot of mud.
The Road That Led Me Home: A story about slow magic, muddy hands, and the art of listening to quiet dreams.
There’s a particular kind of silence you only hear when you’re finally still—when the rush fades, the inbox is closed, and the air smells like eucalyptus and fresh clay. It took years of chasing titles, ticking boxes, and forgetting to exhale before I realised I was miles from the life I actually wanted. The road that led me home wasn’t paved with certainty—it was winding, messy, and full of detours. But somewhere between packing up my city heels and learning to centre clay on a wheel, I found it: a quiet kind of joy, rooted in making, in mothering, and in muddy hands.
Filed Under: Dreams Come True
There she was. My book. On an actual bookstore shelf. Not a dream. Not a daydream. A proper, public, spine-out moment in the wild.
Grateful—my debut picture book—was quietly perched at Dymocks Belconnen, nestled among classics I’ve read a hundred times over. Seeing it there stopped time for a moment. This story was born in the stillness of 3 a.m., in the hush of toddler breaths and hallway night-lights. It’s a keepsake stitched from the everyday magic of our lives: muddy knees, first words, backyard playhouses, and the lighthouse where we said “I do.”
It’s not just ink on paper. It’s our story. And now, it’s out in the world.
Cracks Let The Light In: Notes from the muddy middle of art, life, and letting things fall apart (on purpose)
When my commission vase cracked—twice—I was reminded that pottery, like life, is shaped in the messy middle. This is a story of failure, resilience, and embracing imperfection in art, motherhood, and creative business. Because real handmade pottery doesn’t live in perfect Instagram posts; it lives in the cracks, the pauses, and the quiet work of showing up, starting over, and letting the light in.
Muddy Hands, Full Heart: Thoughts on Mother’s Day
Motherhood isn’t just nappies and night feeds — it’s an entire transformation, a slow becoming that no one really prepares you for. This Mother’s Day, I’m writing from the muddy middle: where matrescence reshapes us, guilt creeps in, and connection sometimes looks like a 10pm voice memo. Whether you're celebrating, grieving, exhausted, or everything at once — there’s space for you here.
The Glazington Chronicle: Courting Clay, Scandalous Slabs & the Etiquette of the Artisan Elite
Dearest reader,
Within these muddied pages of The Glazington Chronicle lies a tale of scandal, slip, and studio secrets. From the forbidden love of potter and clay to kiln catastrophes worthy of high society gasps, I reveal the messy joys of handmade pottery life in Murrumbateman. There’s passion, etiquette, and invitations to play—because here, we don’t just throw clay… we throw caution to the wind.
Ever yours in sass and slip,
Lady Whistlepot.
Confessions of a Former Nine-to-Fiver
Once upon a colour-coded calendar, I lived by KPIs, commuter trains, and corporate catchphrases. But a quiet longing tugged at me—one I couldn’t file away or power through. This is the story of how I traded suits for slip clay, boardrooms for bisqueware, and found creative freedom (and a whole lot of joy) with muddy hands and a handmade life.