Biography

I didn’t plan on becoming a potter. I studied environmental design at UCLA, but after a year of burning out — really feeling like I’d lost myself — I signed up for a weekend ceramics workshop on a whim.

The first time I sank my hands into wet clay, something in me shifted. The wheel forced me to slow down. For the first time in years, my mind went quiet.

What started as therapy became a calling.

Today, I work exclusively with small-batch, handmade pottery. I dig some of my own glazes from natural pigments I collect during road trips through the Mojave Desert and the Sierra Nevada. Each piece — whether a lopsided mug, a textured vase, or a delicate bowl — carries the memory of my hands.

What ceramics means to me:

For me, pottery is not about perfection. It’s about presence.

When I center a lump of clay on the wheel, I have to breathe with it. If I rush, it collapses. If I grip too tightly, it warps. Clay teaches you to listen — to the material, to your body, to the moment.

I describe my work as «wabi-sabi with a California soul» — embracing cracks, glaze drips, finger marks, and subtle asymmetry. Every vessel tells a story of fire, earth, and human touch.

Why I create unique pieces:

I refuse to use molds or mass-produce. Each piece is thrown, trimmed, glazed, and fired individually in my electric kiln.

I want the person who buys my mug to feel like they’re holding something that never existed before — and will never exist again. In a world full of factory-made sameness, a handmade pot is a quiet rebellion.

My work is sold through my website, at local craft fairs (like the Silver Lake Art Market), and in a small boutique in Highland Park. I name each collection after California wildflowers: Poppy, Lupine, Mariposa Lily.

A personal touch:

When I’m not at the wheel, I hike the trails of Griffith Park with my rescue dog, Fig, or experiment with wild clays dug from construction sites (with permission). I fire some of my pieces in a handmade raku kiln in my backyard — a smoky, unpredictable process I call «controlled chaos.»