When I sit down to make a pot, I am not thinking about trends, algorithms, or whether a certain glaze will go viral. I think about the one person who will eventually pick it up, hold it, and bring it into their life. That person might not know my name, or what went into the process, but they will feel something from the piece. It might be comfort, beauty, or a reminder of something they forgot they needed. That is who I create for. Not a crowd, but a single person who will connect with the work because it speaks to something real in their world. That is enough for me.
There is a strange pressure at times to appeal to everyone. To make things that are safe and acceptable. But in trying to please everyone, we often end up saying nothing at all. I have learned that the more specific and honest I am in my work, the more likely it is to find the right person. Not the most people, but the right one. That might sound like a slower way to do things, and maybe it is, but it also feels more grounded. I would rather have one person feel deeply connected to something I made than have a thousand scroll past without stopping.
Making work for the individual means accepting that not everyone will get it, and that is okay. The right person always finds it, even if it takes time. That makes each pot more than just an object—it becomes a conversation. One I started in the studio, and one they get to finish in their home. When I approach my work that way, the pressure to produce fades and the intention behind the making becomes clearer. Each piece feels more honest. I find myself putting more care into the process because I am thinking about the experience I want the individual to have when they use the pot.
There is also a kind of freedom in letting go of the need to appeal to the masses. I am not trying to win a popularity contest. I am trying to create something useful, beautiful, and sincere. That kind of work builds a connection. It creates meaning. It tells a story that is not diluted or shaped to fit everyone. When someone uses a bowl I made, I want it to feel like it was made just for them. That kind of personal connection is why I continue to show up and make work. One pot. One person. One story at a time.
If I were living yesterday a second time:
I would not have read a few more pages of that book.
Things I am grateful for:
I survived another day at the paper factory.
If I get to live to be 86, I only have:
13004 days left.