Why I collect local clay

Every bag of commercially prepared clay begins somewhere. Before it is refined, blended and packaged, it exists as part of the landscape beneath our feet.

Collecting local clay is not about rejecting commercial materials. They are an invaluable part of contemporary ceramics and offer consistency that makes them ideal for many applications. Instead, gathering local clay is about building a relationship with the place where I live and understanding the journey a material takes before it reaches the wheel.

Living on the Yorkshire coast means being surrounded by millions of years of geological history. The cliffs reveal layers of Jurassic clay, shale and sandstone, each formed under different conditions and carrying its own unique mineral composition. By collecting and processing these clays by hand, I begin to understand not only how they behave as ceramic materials, but also the landscape that created them.

The process is slow. Clay must be collected responsibly, dried, slaked, sieved and refined before it can be thrown or tested. Not every clay is suitable for making pots, and not every test is successful. But these experiments are as valuable as the finished pieces, revealing how each material responds to forming, glazing and firing.

This way of working has become central to my ongoing research, Making With Place, which explores how ceramics can reconnect us with the landscapes they inhabit. Each clay tells a different story. Its colour, texture and behaviour are shaped by the geology from which it came, making every test a conversation between material, maker and place.

For me, collecting local clay changes the way I think about making. A pot is no longer simply an object formed on the wheel, becomes a continuation of the landscape itself.

When we know where our materials come from, we begin to see everyday objects differently. A mug becomes more than something we drink from; it becomes a connection to the landscape it came from and a reminder that every object has a story long before it reaches our hands.

Perhaps that is one of the most meaningful things ceramics can do: reconnect us, however quietly, with the ground beneath our feet.