Love shows up in the little things—the soft scrape of a wooden spoon against a familiar ceramic bowl as you stir batter for Saturday morning pancakes, or how a plate carries the weight of shared bread and laughter. These pieces aren’t perfect by design. Their subtle wobbles and soft textures are not flaws, but fingerprints of a maker fully present. They are made to be held, used, and lived with.

This is not production. This is practice. A practice of care, reverence, and of remembering that love doesn’t have to shout. Sometimes, all it takes are a few pancakes and giggles.

For me, color is emotional, and it’s not chosen to follow trends—it’s chosen because of how it makes you feel.

Design is also felt. My forms are simple, but not sterile—organic, often wabi sabi, and always intentional. I leave room for the clay to speak and surprise me.

In a world full of noise, I want my work to feel like a cleansing exhale. The kind of beauty that draws subtle glances, but seems right at home in your space. Color and design are my way of adding art in utility. There is peace in imperfection. And there is always a place for the quiet things to shine.

I believe that the things we use every day should be beautiful—not as decoration, but as devotion. They become companions in our routines—morning coffee, shared meals, and quiet moments at the end of a long day.

In this space, beauty isn’t polished or pristine. It’s lived-in, honest, and soft around the edges. My pieces are not perfect—they are personal. Each one carries a human story, a moment of stillness made tangible. In their usefulness, they remind us to slow down and notice and to belong to our own lives again.