I never intended to become a potter.

It started with a set of Italian plates—beautiful, completely out of reach, and impossible to forget. I remember thinking, why not make them myself?

A few lessons later, I found myself at the wheel, trying to “throw” my first piece. It was too perfect. Too exact. It didn’t feel like me.

Everything shifted when I began hand-building. The process felt different—more natural, more intuitive. There were no rules, no pressure to make something identical. Just movement, texture, and letting the clay become what it wanted to be.

I don’t have a formal art background—just a lifelong curiosity and a deep appreciation for the details most people pass by. Patterns in nature, textures, small moments that feel worth holding onto… those are the things that shape my work.

Many pieces carry something personal. Lace pressed into the clay, patterns inspired by places I’ve been, or materials tied to meaningful moments. If a piece doesn’t have a story, I tend to lose interest.

What started as hesitation slowly became something more. I began showing my work locally, building connections, and finding a place for it across the Southeast. Selma, unexpectedly, became home—full of people who support the work and understand it.

These days, my mornings usually start with coffee in hand and clay on the table, letting the process unfold the way it wants to.

My work lives somewhere between functional and personal. Every piece is made to be used—food safe, oven safe—but also meant to be kept.

Functional, distinctive, and full of movement, my pottery is made to be used, loved, and lived with.