To intimately experience life is the wellspring of a meaningful existence. We all must eat and drink, though how we approach these activities matters. For me it is the ordinary details of life that hold the most significance, so mindfulness of the processes by which my pots are created is important. Subtleties of touch and gesture form the foundation of my work. Throughout the masking process I like to keep things simple - taking thinks as they come and accepting them for what they are. I see myself as a toolmaker, creating tools for the art of living. I do not want my work to stand apart; an object to be perceived. Rather, it is my hope that these pots will be seamlessly integrated into the flow of life, conversing with their users in a most intimate way.


My earliest memories of ceramic objects began with a curiosity about the difference between the pots in my home that were created by individual potters and those produced by industry. Little did I know that these early unphrased questions would set the trajectory of my later life.

Being born in Australia and raised in the United States from a young age, I was amazed by the often subtle, and sometimes stark, differences between unique personalities and societal norms. Later, as a student of philosophy and history at the University of Wollongong in Australia, I became particularly interested in the ceramic objects used in the Japanese tea ceremony. Suddenly differences and similarities converged. "Could I too become a potter?", was the incessant question I asked myself (much to my fathers chagrin).

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The intersection between ideas and experiences continually informs my work. Conversations regarding the significance of handmade pottery in contemporary society are useful, though thoroughly different from actually using pots in one's life. I consider myself both cartographer and explorer. Reflecting on concepts and processes pushes my work in new directions; Responding directly to the materials I use develops my sensitivity to their inherent qualities. Often I feel that my pots shape me more than I shape them. They teach me patience, determination, rhythm, and grace. As a material, clay has the ability to humble the most astute maker. For this I am grateful.


Returning to the United States, I was fortunate to find myself as an apprentice to Mark Shapiro. Life changing. After three years at Stonepool Pottery, I embarked on a period of travel, visiting and working with many potters before being graciously accepted as a long-term resident at the Red Lodger Clay Center in Montana. From there I found my way to Alfred University, where I completed my graduate studies at the School of Art and Design. Perpetually challenged, doubts arose... "Could I too become a potter?" Some lateral drift was required.

After knocking about for several years, I established The Broken Rock Work Shop on the coastal fringes of Southern New South Wales, Australia. Happily making pots for the local community, I offer my thanks for all the experiences afforded me thus far and look forward for those to come.