It’s about the process…

Slip-casting begins with liquid clay — porcelain in its earliest form: smooth and heavy with possibility.

I pour it into plaster molds, one by one, watching the flow fill every curve, every negative space that will become a bowl, a cup, a vessel.

Then I wait.

The plaster begins to draw moisture from the slip, coaxing the form to life as clay particles accumulate along the sides. Slowly, a wall begins to build — invisible at first, then thickening, the piece taking shape, particle by particle.

There’s a moment when I know it’s time — a sense I’ve developed over years of practice. A rhythm of pacing, of listening to what the porcelain wants.

I pour the excess slip back out. What remains is a hollow skin, soft and smooth. It will dry. Be trimmed. Cleaned. What was once liquid becomes a quiet shape, waiting for next steps.

The magic is in this rhythm of repetition — rinse, pour, wait. Trim. Clean. Repeat.

Slip-casting lets me hold both precision and grace. It gives structure to the ephemeral.

Every piece I make passes through this rhythm. It begins as liquid, becomes form, edges cleaned and smoothed, then undergoes its trials by fire — bisque, glaze, and sometimes an image transfer.

But it’s in these first moments of focused, repetitive motion where the heart of the work takes shape. And where my heart rests.