My process often begins with seeing and acknowledging a material, a method or a need.

The rolling of clay for hand built vessels, or the memory of my father’s leather postal service bag, or the need for a proper place to put a bar of soap.

I identify and translate the most essential characteristics that carry through the spirit of the original thought: the smooth yet slightly uneven surface of the clay, the raw edges of the leather, the right weight of an object of use and a place for water to drain.

Other thoughts creep in. Sometimes mundane or strange visual elements that inform the texture, the color palette or the contour of a curve that feel well-suited to this particular piece. A dead tree branch, a Japanese tea cup, burnt paper, a broken edge of slate, a staircase, the shadows and light of a September dusk.

I use it for a period of time, mentally refining details - getting rid of anything fussy, adding in something I hadn’t considered. Or if things work well, I leave it be.

I make a prototype. It has to be a wonderful yet practical experience to use it.

Then I determine the best process for making many without compromising the essence of the original piece.