Last summer I spent seven weeks working as an apprentice at Hjorths Fabrik , a ceramic factory and museum in Rønne, the largest town on the Danish island,  Bornholm.

I applied for the apprenticeship to give myself focussed time to improve my throwing skills, wanting to learn from people more practiced and experience than myself. I had been feeling limited in what I could make, lucky on the occasions that something pulled from the wheel had a likeness to a sketch or an image in my mind. On good days I could throw something I felt pleased with and reproduce it a few times over. Later — more honest — looking however, would reveal discrepancies between the original and each subsequent attempt, these subtle differences often missing the essence of what I enjoyed in the initial form. I would also notice that I couldn't recall the specific movements of my hands in the clay, their positions at various stages of the process, the physical motion that produced a particularly perfect, gentle curve. I wanted to build this muscle memory so I could rely on it as a base to make work from. I wanted to come to forms I thought were beautiful on purpose as well as by chance.

Most of my days as an apprentice were spent sat at an old kick-wheel in the throwing room, my right leg settling into a rhythmic back and forth over the worn flywheel underfoot. I started working to reproduce a popular teacup from the factory's longstanding range of tableware, throwing the body over and over again while aiming for specific dimensions from a set weight of clay. For visual reference I had a bisque fired model and a couple of pieces that had been freshly thrown by factory manager, Karina, to demonstrate the process and the appropriate grips. As well as the technical skill involved, her examples also demonstrated that there was some tolerance within the set dimensions; knowing the object well let her judge which of her reproductions fell within the acceptable bounds.

At the end of each day I would look over my work and notice the outliers, pieces thrown to the correct dimensions, yet somehow wrong in the context of the larger group. When viewed en masse I could more clearly see where I had failed to translate the original form. It might be that the very slight outward taper from the mug walls into the rim would be too apparent, or perhaps the overall taper of the shape would not be apparent enough. Something about it would be undeniably off. This process of translating very-close-looking into a physical object was something I found extremely satisfying, in part because being able to get near to the ‘truth’ of the object represented a big progression in my throwing ability. Careful looking produced a more faithful translation.

Since getting back from Bornholm I have been developing my own collection of tableware. There’s a coffee cup I made in 2023 which I have come to see as an ideal of sorts, and I have used its characteristics as the start-point for new pieces. It has pleasing proportions, a soft 'V' shaped body, a nice tapered rim, and two curved indents that cradle your index and middle fingers while you drink. The glaze is soft and diffuses colour across the surface, a shiny coat that is not too obscuring of the form beneath. It has qualities that come together to be something I find lovely, basically. It’s been so satisfying to come back to this piece now that I have the skill to translate it from my much practised close‑looking.

I think this first collection will be formed of a cup, a bowl, and a plate — each in two sizes. These are the forms I have been focussed on developing first as they feel like the minimum required parts. I’m also considering including a jug, but we’ll see. (Jugs are objects I really enjoy making and thinking about, but don’t actually use in my day-to-day life, so the inclusion of one feels less urgent. I think they are an interesting object to potters... they’ve become a standard as I see it, hard to resist.)

Other than the coffee cup for which I had a model, I have been throwing freely to give myself a lot of forms to look at rather than drawing out any ideas beforehand. Then I spend time deciding what their merits are, picking and choosing aspects from each piece to try and bring together into one harmonious form. I’ll start documenting the making process here, alongside some of the notes I keep when thinking about how to develop each object and the collection as a whole. ●