Joy in the making

At school, art was my favourite subject. Not so much for the creations I produced, more for the peace it gave me. Art for me has always been a form of meditation.

When I was 14 our teacher made a huge slab of Plaster of Paris which she broke up into pieces. She gave us one each and I remember holding the shape I had been given and, rather than starting right away, I found myself looking at it carefully trying to see what it wanted to be. In the end it became a mythical animal with a gentle face and a huge antler that curved around the entire top. Creating this piece and working on it as it emerged mattered so much to me. Our art lessons were only an hour at a time twice a week, with long days in between filled with normal less engaging (to me) subjects, but I thought about my plaster carving all the time and I longed to get back to it. I loved the feel of the smooth plaster in my hands and the soft noise it made when I carved into it with my blunt school knife. When it was finished I missed it. I didn’t want to stop. I was proud of the final result but the real joy had been in the making of it.  

Creating is a process and it has to be done in stages, but for me, once I have formed a shape in my hands in its most scrappy early state it is imprinted in my mind and I can’t wait to get back to it to work on it. When I am under pressure to make specific pieces I have to work hard not to lose this feeling or my strong connection to the clay. It is annoying but it no longer surprises me when the shape I am intending to form just won’t appear. Art has to be a heartfelt collaboration between the maker and the material; it is just so much deeper than knocking something up!  

You can see this beautiful relationship in work that resonates. It doesn’t have to be perfect. The tips of finger prints left at the base of a piece showing where it was carefully held by the maker when it was dipped in the glaze; the slightly irregular pinching of the rim of a jug or bowl made to be used, not necessarily admired. The rough trimming on a dish that is now your favourite, not for the way it looks, but for the way it feels in your hands. I always like these pieces best because in all of them we can feel and see the joy in the making, as well as the joy of the maker. 

Healing power of clay

In early 2023 I returned to live in London after 21 years living in Devon where we brought up our children. This was a huge life change and alongside everything else, I had to leave my studio and my kiln behind. I was having sleepless nights about how I would manage without making in clay until I got settled so I started to google studios in west London where I was going to live temporarily. I wanted to see if I could find a place to go and sit with clay in my hands. Those of you who follow me will know how important the clay is to me and how it has brought me solace and healing over the years, but pathways are never, or at least rarely, straightforward and this one wasn’t either. 

I found The Clay Garden under the arches in Hammersmith and I knew it would be perfect for me but they had a long waiting list for members. In the meantime I could do drop-in sessions there as I was an experienced potter except, I couldn’t, because 4 days after arriving in London, I tripped on the tube steps at Hoxton and broke my arm. Life has a way of working out though … as my arm began to recover, a space came up to be a technician in the studio one day a week in return for a full membership. The timing was perfect; I applied and I got it. 

I have always done my pottery alone and I wasn’t sure how I would feel, putting my workings out for all to see alongside others on the huge communal work tables, but being part of a studio was a revelation. I had a shelf and a cubby hole for my clay and an instant sense of belonging. Here I was, for the first time, surrounded by other potters, a whole community of like-minded people, all making and creating their own things, and it was wonderful. So many of these potters and other technicians (all potters like me) have become my dear friends; we all share a deep love of this extraordinary material, we share our doubts and fears that we are rubbish at pottery, how we manage imposter syndrome, frustration and disappointment when things don’t turn out the way we had hoped, and we share our joy when they do. We encourage and push each other and revel in each others’ progress; we share skills, tips, tools and advice and we laugh, a lot!

The support is immense and it is always there, in this special studio of clay and kindness. I am learning and expanding my practice through my weekly technician job and, in the studio in my free time, I can experiment with new ideas, clay bodies and glazes, something I could never have done before on my own. At a challenging time in my life, I found a healing artistic community where I could continue to put my heart in my work. And, once again I was led by the clay.  How lucky am I?! 

Homecoming

Only once before in my life have I made things out of clay. When I was 12 my mother died after a short illness; it was the end of the summer holidays and two weeks later I was returned to boarding school 200 miles away from home and it was very hard. I felt different from everyone else now, and I was grieving and terribly homesick. One evening, after supper, my friend Louie suggested we go to the art room; it was closed and out of bounds of course and I was worried about being caught, but she was the youngest of three and fearless. I loved art, we both did, but as I headed for the paints, she went straight to the huge black clay bin, lifted the lid, dug out a lump of sticky and wet terracotta clay and put it in my hands. Gradually, as I started to feel and shape it, something inside me shifted into a calmer place. My mother had been an artist and I'm sure that being in that warm space, making and creating, helped me to feel connected to her.

Louie and I sneaked up there on our own whenever we could, and during those long autumn evenings before the bell rang for bed, we made things out of clay until the light faded and we could barely see our hands. We always had to put the clay back in the bin as if it had never been touched and we were never caught, but they must have known by the inevitable terracotta on our school uniforms.  I’m glad they never stopped us because it became a sanctuary for me – it was healing and as I shaped and formed things with my hands, I was able to forget for a while so that, in time, life became more bearable and hopeful. When I was 14, I left to go to a school nearer home, leaving Louie and the clay behind, but what she did for me then was an act of extraordinary compassion and understanding in one so young - she seemed to instinctively know that the clay would help me, and it did. She went on to become a successful potter herself. And then, a whole lifetime later, I pull another chunk of clay out of another bag in another world, once again at a time when I need help, and I feel a jolt of recognition that moves me - I am momentarily 12 again, next to my new friend, my hands in the clay, making and creating. 

Finding the Light

I met Sophia Angelov at Celebrating Ceramics in Waterperry Gardens this July - we chatted and she said she wrote the Meet the Maker pieces in London Potters Magazine and she’d be interested in featuring me and my work. A week or so later she got in touch and sent me some questions. Years of posting on instagram have helped me to hone the profile I want. I never post personal stuff but these were personal questions. What got me started in clay was very personal and exposing and I suddenly wasn’t sure whether or not I wanted to share that. I talked to a couple of potter friends who said yes tell it as it was, so I took a deep breath and I did.

I have had optic neuritis twice and it is a terrible thing. Your sight starts to go gradually until it has gone. I was very lucky, I only had it in one eye but the experience is terrifying and incredibly painful. There is no cure and all you can do is wait it out until hopefully your optic nerve will reduce its swelling and your sight will return. Again I was lucky, it doesn’t always come back or will only partially return. The first time it happened in my early 30’s I did not return to work full time for 5 months.

Life resumed, I got married, had a family and gradually I stopped fearing for my sight then, almost 25 years later, I had another episode. I couldn’t believe it. It was worse this time and I had to give up my work. I was in my late fifties and I knew my chances of recovery were not as good.

I was with a friend when she talked about a space in a small Monday night clay group locally. I hadn’t touched clay since school but it appealed to me. I was beginning to slowly get my sight back and I would be using my hands not my eyes so I asked if I could take up the space and she said yes.

I was very nervous that first evening. Doing anything creative, in public especially, is daunting and this was an established group. They all knew the ropes. I couldn’t see very well at all and I felt vulnerable. The bag of stoneware was already open and I was invited to take some. I put in my hand and I remember it felt cold and unyielding to the touch. I dug in my fingers and twisted off a chunk which I pulled out and held in both of my hands. At that second I felt a jolt of, what I can only describe as, recognition. I felt my body change, my ears were filled with silence, I wanted to cry for no reason I could understand. I was home. And I knew it. What I didn’t know was that It was the beginning of a healing journey for me which would encompass far more than my sight alone.

Pictured above... from my very first stoneware pieces and my first use of gold leaf, to my current work with black and white porcelain and lustre.

Sharing

It has been a very long time since I posted in my journal but I’m excited and happy to be back! Do sign up to my e-newsletter below if you’d like to receive my occasional thoughts and stories on all things clay. I have missed writing to you!

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Ever since I set foot on this glorious path, whenever I’ve been showing at an event or craft fair other potters will come up to my stand and ask me about my making process with the lustre. We all know it’s not easy to use and they want to know how I get it so smooth, but more importantly, they want to know my firing temperatures and tips for working with this notoriously tricky glaze.

Perfecting any process takes a long time and there are inevitable bumps in the road so it took a lot of trial and error to get the lustre to do what I wanted it to do. It’s hard to know what to do with a hard won skill and when I started out I never knew whether to tell people my trade secrets or not but now I share all that I can. I knew then that I had something a bit different and didn’t want anyone to steal it, but of course no one can really. They can take the concept (and actually the instructions and firing temperatures are on the side of the lustre bottle and in a thousand You Tube videos!) but the energy of the individual maker and their vision is found in the spirit of their pots and theirs alone.

I appreciate so much the joy of and support in sharing skills, tips and ideas between potters, largely a generous bunch of warm sensitive individuals. Events can be daunting and we spend a lot of time together as strangers initially as we set up our stalls side by side and put the very essence of who we are creatively out on the table in front of us for people to look at, pick over, comment on and like or dislike. Some days are good, some less good and some downright terrible but we help each other through in any way we can and it’s a joy to be surrounded by likeminded souls. By the end we are congratulating, encouraging, comforting, hugging and supporting each other with genuine understanding. New friends are always made and it’s a reminder that a rising tide lifts all boats.

Three mothers

I really love being asked to make special pieces for people. There is always a story behind every commission and it’s so lovely to be a part of it. Last year I was commissioned to make three vases by a bride-to-be for her three mothers. They were to be made from white porcelain and lined with gold lustre and she wanted them to be ready for her wedding in August. Her three mothers would all be there, her mother, her stepmother and her soon-to-be mother in law. She wanted to give them each a vase on the day to thank them for all they had done for her and to celebrate their important roles in her life. I was so touched by this and I made all three out of the same piece of clay; the vases were all different, tall and willowy like arum lilies and she loved them. Families come in all shapes and sizes and it warms me to think of these three mothers sharing something so special. They each received a gift, hand made for them from one piece of clay, linking them together and always reminding them of their lovely thoughtful daughter. Never have we needed to stay as close to our families and friends as we do now. Stay safe and keep well everyone.

The next generation

My first ever craft fair was ‘The Contemporary Craft Festival’ in Bovey Tracey. It was June 2017 and I was in the StartUp tent for new makers. To think that less than three years earlier I had never made anything out of clay was pretty amazing. And now, here I was, displaying my work on a stand at one of the biggest craft fairs in Europe, That June weekend it poured with rain from start to finish - an endless stream of visitors struggled with wellies, umbrellas, rain coats, take away coffees and paper carrier bags full of glorious hand-made purchases - the rain never stopped, but they kept on coming. People were so warm and encouraging, they gave me fabulous feedback and I sold well.. Then, towards the end of the first day, a little boy appeared in front of my stand. He had bright blue eyes, blond hair and had to reach up on tiptoe to look at my work. ‘Look at these Mum’ he said, ‘aren’t they beautiful’. His mum tried to stop him touching, but I said it was fine, he could pick up any piece he wanted. I had a row of small bowls at the front of my display and he picked one up and.placed it gently in the palm of his hand, I could see he really loved it so I packaged it carefully in a box and I gave it to him. There is something so wonderful when children understand the importance, individuality and joy of ‘hand made’. This little boy and his little bowl set a precedent for me. At every show since that first one I have given away a tiny bowl to a young child who is brave enough, and passionate enough, to pick one up off my stand. I always instantly know who to give it to; sometimes it will happen on the first day, once or twice it has been in the last half an hour of a show, but they always come and I always know. Things which are made by hand are so important and when children understand this, and appreciate it, then we know that there are new generations coming who will carry the hand made baton forwards and that makes me happy..

Inspiration

My mother was an artist and a very bright woman but, like so many of her generation, there was nowhere for clever, inspiring women like her to shine and thrive; we women are so lucky today. She was an only child and her letters home from boarding school to her parents in Argentina were peppered with drawings; it seemed as if words were not enough for her, she had to illustrate everything she wanted to say as well.  Art school in London was swiftly followed by marriage in Yorkshire and then three children, so her painting took a back seat for a while, but she always drew - this was an integral part of who she was. I couldn’t believe how she seemed to know the shape of things she couldn’t see and could draw an animal or a person, or anything at all from her imagination; it seemed like magic. When she found the time she painted in oils and I remember the warm smell of the linseed as she worked the paint with her palette knife. She loved working in pastels too, blending and scraping to get the effect she wanted; her hands and clothes were often covered in a sludgy mixture of chalky colours. She was always in a hurry; thoughtful, sensitive, passionate about creativity, a great cook, a brilliant wordsmith, an avid reader, a quick decision maker, a good friend. She encouraged us to be all of these things too, but above all to be creative. She wanted us to experiment and try new things, to read books we might not have chosen for ourselves, to write stories and poems and plays, to use our hands. She sketched us often, casually capturing the movement and sense of us far better than any photograph ever could. I wish I still had those sketches but my memory of them, and her as she drew us, will have to do. She died far too young and even now, after all these years, fifty in fact, I would give anything to see her again for a moment, of course I would, but I don’t need to have her here beside me to know she would be thrilled that I am a maker now. She’d laugh her tinkling laugh and say, ‘My darling, what took you so long?’

Labels

Recently I found myself sitting next to a delightful Dutchman at a lovely family wedding.  We exchanged basic information on who we knew, how beautiful the bride looked (his niece), how handsome the groom was (my cousin), and what a touching, modern and uplifting exchange of vows we had just witnessed, then we turned to introduce ourselves to the people on our other sides. Later, as we tucked into homemade lasagne (made by the mother of the groom) I asked him a question I must have asked a thousand times, 'what do you do?' He looked momentarily confused as if his understanding of English had failed him, 'What do you mean?' he replied, 'do you mean, what do I like to do?'  It suddenly struck me how rigid we are in our thinking in the UK, how we allow ourselves to be entirely defined by our work and our jobs and how this has become our narrow culture. Of course I was asking about his job, but he heard a different question. He was thinking about his life as a whole, his love of the outdoors, his hobbies and family time and he started with that and then he told me about his job which is only a part of his life, not the whole of it.  There is such a lesson there and I made my own vow that day to look at my life and all the parts of myself with new eyes and greater value, I'm not defined by my work, I am so much more, we all are. And the next time someone asks me what I do I will talk about my life in a different way and try not to package myself into one little box labelled 'work'.

OPEN DOOR

I went to Ceramic Art London in March.  It was so exciting – a collection of some of the best makers on the planet all in one space at St Martin’s School of Art, Kings Cross.  It was a really blustery day with blue skies and the fresh Spring weather matched my excitement at the prospect of being inspired. I wasn’t disappointed; the level of skill across all of the ceramics was so incredible it was almost impossible to imagine this work could have been made by hand. I didn’t intend to go to a talk but as I walked towards the exit, I passed the open door to the lecture theatre and they were calling for people to take a seat so, on a total whim, I slipped inside and sat at the back.  It was a talk about architecture, how ceramics are used on the exterior of buildings, and I have to be honest, my energy didn’t exactly jump at the prospect. How wrong I was. The owner of Darwen Terracotta, Jon Wilson, told a story which amazed me. Only 4 years ago he had started the business and rescued a large number of very skilled crafts people who had been let go from another company with no prospect of finding similar work.  He raised the money with another colleague to take them on and start Darwen Terracotta and now, not only are their skills saved for future generations but the company is thriving and doing wonderful artistic, uplifting, restorative work on buildings, and working with contemporary ceramicists and architects all over the world.  Jon’s story moved me. I know from personal experience how simple it seemed in the 1990’s for aggressive buyout teams to storm into family businesses and discard all the workers, some of whom had been there all their lives, as had their parents and grandparents, and try to replace them with machinery or other cheaper less skilled workers. It was so short-sighted. These skilled craftspeople WERE the business. Most of these businesses and with them, many of our famous and beautiful handmade British glassware and ceramics brands, simply didn’t survive. Jon has done a very good thing, not only for the people whose livelihoods and skills he saved but also for the next generation of young people who are learning from these ceramic and glazing experts. When the talk was finished I left the lecture hall and as I came out of St Martin’s into the bright sunlight I found myself looking up at the tops of buildings, the tiled exterior of the tube station, the ceramic art on a nearby fountain and the amazing ceramic sculptures on old facades with new eyes, chances are they were made/repaired/designed by Darwen Terracotta’s team of skilled craftspeople. How uplifting, surprising and exciting life can be if you keep your eyes open and occasionally change direction - if only to walk through an open door - I recommend it!

Finding your thing

The other day I was thinking about where creativity comes from and what makes some people naturals when it comes to making things with their hands. Having just got back from Made by Hand Cheltenham, where I was one of 100 lucky makers given the opportunity to show their work, the standard was quite astonishing.  The best time at these events for me is first thing in the morning before the day gets going and people arrive. You can wander from stand to stand in the quiet as makers arrive with coffees and start to set up, looking closely at the work and considering the practice and skill and sheer imagination that has gone into such perfect pieces of hand-made joy. For anyone who hasn’t been to one of these events I urge you to go. You’ll never want to buy mass produced again and the pleasure of meeting and talking to makers, so happy to share their experience and skill, is such a privilege and the icing on the cake. 

There is no doubt in my mind that some people just know what to do when they find their thing, be it clay or paint or glass, textiles, wood or jewellery … the list goes on. That’s not to say that hundreds of hours of practise haven’t gone into the work as these makers hone their skills, learn from their mistakes and perfect their craft, but if you are lucky enough to ‘find your thing’ it’s definitely a feeling that you have come home. I wonder if a leaning towards making in clay for example like I do could be carried in our DNA and passed down from generation to generation. There are no potters that I know of in my family but I like to think that perhaps some ancient ancestor of mine made pots in the way I make pots, with their hands and heart, pressing their fingers into the clay to form a vessel that can hold something beautiful or a simple treasure. And if so, perhaps the very first time I picked up the clay, which felt so familiar to me as soon as I touched it, their hands reached across the generations and took mine in theirs to show me what I already knew.

Past Present Future

So, it’s here, my empty nest moment.  I’ve known it was coming for a while since I realised that by a simple quirk of fate, both of my children, even though they are almost 5 years apart in age, would leave home within a month of each other.  The thing that strikes me the most is how they have taken their very essence and energy with them.  Our house feels very empty and I wasn’t expecting that! I know there will be many new and wonderful things to come out of this; opportunities, experiences and more happy days when they are once again sitting round our kitchen table, telling us about their lives, but right now it’s quite a challenge as I learn to accept the ending of my most important and creative job. My friends who are a bit ahead of me tell me how parenting is never over and they come back, and I know that, but what is over is the ‘knowing’ of how they feel in the day to day, the sharing of triumphs and disappointments as they happen, the casual, but important, conversations late at night just when you are desperate to go to bed! Those memories make me want to reach back in time and hold their hot little hands in mine once more. I have watched with wonder and pride as they have grown from babies to toddlers to children to young adults and now they are gone to start their adult lives which is the right order of things of course. It has been a privilege you know, and I loved every minute.

Making

‘Making’ sounds so much less serious than ‘creating’ and because I could be ‘making’ a cake or ‘making’ a bed, it isn’t loaded with expectation about making something wonderful and perfect and all of us makers can live without that pressure! The clay feels cold and inanimate when you first pull it out of the bag but it soon warms up and comes alive in my hands; every clay is different and you become familiar with the feel of each one.  The black porcelain is always wet and sticky but if you run your finger through it, it smooths out like silk.  The white porcelain feels slightly dryer and harder to the touch but it ‘gives’ when you work it as if it’s capitulating in some way.  I always start with a ball of clay in the palm of my hand and I never make anything bigger than I can comfortably create there because keeping an unbroken connection with the clay is very important to me. Sometimes, when people pick up my finished work they will place it in their own palm for a moment and this always thrills me; it’s where it started out and when they do that I feel that their hand slips into mine as the maker, just for a moment, and to me, that’s what ‘hand-made’ is all about. 

Nourish

Nourish is such a lovely rich, big, beautiful, all encompassing word. It’s about abundance, receiving and giving, nurture and care. It's about kindness, warmth, thoughtfulness and sharing. We can nourish others but we can also nourish ourselves with the things that make us feel better; flowers, a walk, a cup of coffee with friends, reading by a fire, cooking a lovely meal for friends or family. I know that working with clay nourishes the creative part of who I am and now I can't imagine my life without it. I was at The Nourish Festival in Bovey Tracey at the beginning of September and the town was filled with people from near and far. There was nourishment for everyone that day, the sun shone, the streets were packed with families encompassing all the generations, and the atmosphere was amazing; no one can ask for more than that! As summer turns to autumn it’s time to nourish ourselves and each other and so these flowers are for you.

SURPRISE!

I won an award! As my Yorkshire Dad used to say, 'Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather!' It was the Makers Choice Award presented by North Devon Ceramics Academy and Studio at Clay: A Festival of Ceramics in Barnstaple, North Devon.  There were over 65 other ceramicists there and I was totally blown away to be chosen.  When they came over saying they had something to tell me I thought I had done something wrong; taken up too much space with my stand, parked in the wrong place, forgotten to pay my stand fee ...I guess it's inevitable that old habits die hard but this was a wonderful unexpected surprise and I am thrilled to bits and very proud!

One year on ...

It's 12 months since I first showed my lustre and porcelain pieces at the Contemporary Craft Festival in Bovey Tracey, and what a lot has happened since then!  This year I introduced my black clay pieces and I was also in the main tent which was so exciting.  So many customers returned to add to their collections and  it was lovely to see them again and talk about their pieces and where they had put them in their homes. Not for the first time did I think what a great world this is to be a part of.  My stand was near two makers I have got to know over the last year, Helen Round Designs and Lucy Spink Jewellery and we had so much fun.  This is definitely a big part of it all, the support and friendship and understanding of other makers who know when to offer you a bit of chocolate or get you a cup of tea when things are quiet on your stand for a moment and doubt creeps in (which it does regularly for everyone who makes things with their hands and hearts!)  Almost the best bit of the whole thing is the setting up - we all spend hours creating our stands, having a laugh, sharing staple guns, steps, paint and spirit levels - until our stands are all perfect and ready to go.  Then, as the show closes on the Sunday afternoon we start to dismantle and the whole site is empty within an hour as if it never happened and everyone is gone. Only it did happen, and it will again!  Feeling lucky! 

Community

Just sometimes a magical day comes along when the stars are aligned and things feel ‘right’!  Literally about 20 yards from where I live there is a lovely but under-used square.  The home owners and fabulous shop keepers who front the square raised a load of money a couple of years ago to turn it into a community space and it is still a rather well kept secret, but the recent arrival of Me and East, a glorious emporium of all things hand made is making a real impact on the area and turning it into a bit of a destination. This Saturday was the first Rotherfold Artisan Market, an intimate affair with a handful of local makers including lucky me, our wonderful local baker, The Almond Thief, organic food from The Kitchen Table and all curated by Me and East. Right from the off at 8am we all worked together, sweeping the square, putting up gazebos and umbrellas (rain was forecast but never really materialised until the very end when we were packing up and all got drenched!) and setting up our stalls. There was a steady stream of visitors; including many familiar faces, seen in the street, the shops, at the school gates, but perhaps never spoken to until now, as they visited our stands, asked questions, encouraged and enthused and bought, and, in many cases were amazed at the secret craft-based lives some of us have alongside our other jobs! There was music from local bands and buskers, delicious food and a lovely chilled party atmosphere.  It felt like the coming together of a very special community, but then those of us who live here know that this is our very unique little town at its absolute best. I loved every minute of it and I can’t wait for the next one!

Celebration

Recently I have had three commissions for wedding presents and one as a christening gift. It's always such a privilege to make pieces for people who are giving them as gifts and it made me think about the work I do and the bright lustres I use and how magical they are. Weddings and christenings are about new beginnings and families and friends; they are an excuse for us all to shine, to make the best of ourselves and celebrate together whole-heartedly. It's lovely to think that the pieces I've made by hand and with love will be a tiny part of these four special celebrations.  

Whole

When I see something that has been mended but is still being used my heart does a joyful little dance. Sadly though, a piece of mended china, even if it looks almost exactly the same, will have little or no value except to its owner because we live in a world where perfection seems to be all that matters and this is a great shame. The challenging things that happen to us add value to us, change us, make us stronger, perhaps more empathetic, more resilient, transformed even, and with a story to tell and the same applies to objects we love.  When my daughter was a toddler she dropped the lid of this pretty pot which had once belonged to her great grandmother, and it shattered.  My immediate reaction was to chuck the whole thing away but instead my kind mother in law told us to carefully collect up all the pieces and she had it expertly mended for me. At 96, she comes from a generation which mended things when they broke; a habit we seem to have lost in only a couple of generations. This repair shows if you look closely but it's part of the history of this little pot and there is absolutely no reason why it shouldn't be used and enjoyed for many generations to come. How easy it would have been to gather it all up and throw it away because it was no longer perfect. But instead it sits there scarred, but still whole, like all of us.

Seeing and Looking

My grandmother had a large collection of 'fairings' which fascinated me when I was a child. Fairings were given away as prizes at fairs in Victorian times; they were literally two a penny, little china models that told a story, some were cheeky, maybe with a newly married couple climbing into bed, many featured animals such as a family washing the dog in a bath tub, there were mothers with naughty children misbehaving and women with new babies. Some were coarse and very badly made, others were completely exquisite, beautifully painted and definitely special. As a child I loved these little china ‘stories’ and characters, spending hours looking at them as they stood in a row on a low bookshelf in my grandmother’s house, my childlike imagination flying about as I secretly touched them with the tip of my finger, even though I wasn’t allowed to. They are all long gone now sadly but when I recently spotted one in a junk shop in Lyme Regis I knew everything about this tiny model as if I had seen it yesterday, and for £2.50 it was mine. I realise that, over time, objects in our everyday lives become almost invisible, over familiar maybe, and I wonder … is this because we stop ‘seeing’ them or is it because we stop ‘looking’?  This experience of seeing a fairing I knew so well made me look with fresh eyes at some of the most precious china I do have and by properly looking at these pieces I saw things I had never noticed before.  What I appreciate most of all though is the incredible artistry, craftsmanship and skill that has gone into each and every one.