I took up pottery about eighteen months ago and make hand-coiled pots – jugs mostly – from stoneware clay. Everything is built by eye, without use of a wheel or wooden form.
Since the EU-Ref, I have decided to give what I make away. One wonky pot at a time, it’s my way of heartening those who feel loss at the referendum result. It is only when I am making a pot that it becomes clear who it is for.
I’m doing this for me too, as I struggle to come to terms with the annexation of my European identity. What is Brexit other than a collapse of the imagination? Heartbreaking, reckless, it brands any dissent as treachery. It would have us gorge forever on these austere times.
As a kind of retort, I make pots. Pots with heft; pots that will make an almighty smash if anyone feels the need to throw one. Functional pots because, damn it, somehow we do have to function. And then other pots too, pots that just are: a bowl to keep swallows in (until I gave the swallows away); a pumpkin with a lid.
Here, then, pots: