Over the last few months, we have been working on a different range of ceramics. This has involved lots of experiments, with the inevitable successes and failures that always come with working with new forms of ceramics.

I say ‘we’, but this has been a project mostly followed by Chris, with our son-in-law James as a co-conspirator. Michaela has been busy with other things, and also has a sensory objection to the heavily grogged clay that these new experiments havedemanded.

We are almost at the point of floating some of this new work, alongside other seatree pieces, in the form of ‘seatree elemental’

The point here was not only to push out into something new, but also to respond in a different way to our environment, our location and to overarching concerns about social and climate justice. The partnership with James has been important, as he is an oceanographer, spending time in the arctic doing research on melting ice. This has led him through dark places, but also into making his own art in response to the experience. Check out his website here.

Seatree elemental looks different from other seatree work because the process is very different. Using grogged or raku clays, which give much greater thermal shock protection, these pieces are typically pit-fired or raku glazed. Most still use our own poetry, but the themes of these poems are likely to be darker and used in a way that is much more ephemeral.

Here is a sneak preview of some of the new work- hopefully coming to the website shop soon!



Most years, Chris has written a daily advent meditation on the lead up to Christmas. It is his way of pacing himself into winter and seeking to be more mindful and connected. If you already love his poetry then you might be interested in following his blog, over at www.thisfragiletent.com.  Here is a sneak preview of his post from today, the first day of advent…
The boundary between seasons is always shrouded in mist, but nevertheless it seems clear now that autumn is burned out. That great blaze of last-gasp beauty has been replaced by cold cold nights in which only the strongest stars out-compete the hooded moon. Soon the thing will turn again. It will be wet hereabouts, but above us will turn to white. Here, where cities and towns have thinned out only to strands, there is no hiding place from the coming of winter. It is not fooled by fire or distracted by screen. I fear it, knowing I must bear it. There is no other way. Of course, beauty is not banished. Joy is not banished. Life does not end; rather the wildness that remains is still willd. It sleeps under surface of wood and glen, waiting. Because we too are wild, we are not immune from winter. All we have is this; to seek meaning within it. We look deep into darkness seeking colour and shape. We strain for sound in silence.