Jennifer’s story

All my life, I felt like there was something that I was born to do. I was constantly searching for a creative outlet through which I could express my inner self. Then, about 15 years ago, I signed up for a beginner’s pottery class and everything seemed to fall into place. From the very first day, from the moment I started that pottery wheel and started centering my first ball of clay, I knew my life would never be the same. My first efforts on the wheel were not as successful as I hoped or imagined they would be. There was always a kind of divine discontent in me. I so wanted to improve my product and make Art. Though I continued to struggle, I kept at it, and like with so many things in life, one day I sat down at the wheel and everything clicked. I started to create the Art that I envisioned. I started to produce work that I was very proud of.

I am moved by so many things. My love of history leads me in many directions. I find myself producing pieces that are inspired by a documentary on Pompeii or a Dutch painting from the 17th Century depicting life in Leiden. My Irish heritage stirs me to try and capture examples of early Celtic vessels. I have always lived near the sea, and so it is an ever-present source of inspiration to me both in colors and texture. The walls of my studio are covered in pictures drawn by my daughter and a painting of my parents that was done by my Aunt 30 years ago. They keep me company while I work and make me proud that I am continuing the legacy of artistic expression that my Aunt started, while at the same time inspiring my daughter to do the same.

My decision to work with red, white, speckled, or black clay greatly depends on my mood at that moment. I have been known to start out the morning throwing white clay and then switch to red clay in the afternoon. Not an easy thing to do sometimes, as I only have one wheel and I need to clean it thoroughly between clays so as not to contaminate either.

Do I consider myself an Artist? I’m reluctant to call myself one. When I hear the word Artist, I think of names like Da Vinci, Monet, and Michelangelo, and to group myself with the likes of them seems so pretentious. I guess I would be willing to go so far as to call myself a struggling artist who has yet to create her own David.