Working with clay is satisfying on so many levels. It is extremely direct. I have used clay that I dug from local steam beds and marshes. Once I found strange black clay at the base of a seaside cliff. However, usually, I choose the infinitely quicker method of buying lovely bags of the premixed stuff at the same place I buy my glazes.

Direct, too, is my making of the objects, using my hands, a few simple tools, nails, and even some "perfect" stones I have collected over the years. I begin with an intention, an idea, and usually a particular animal that interests me as the most proper form with which I will attempt to capture the significant moment of the movement that will suggest everything: the pause before the action, the doubt, the hope.

Then there is the huge struggle to "get it right". Doing so is always a fascinating process, with so many problems, but problems I have set for myself. Eventually, I experience tremendous wonder as the piece starts to acquire its own personality. The piece itself suggests solutions, patterns appear, and directions become apparent.

Finally, I am surprised with a success that was partly of my making, but much more wonderful because it grew from within itself as well. This is the greatest pleasure.