I love making.

Despite choosing a career in STEM as a young adult, I've always been a maker at heart.

I grew up watching my mom paint, crochet, and create just about anything she could imagine. She never stopped learning new crafts—and, more importantly, she never stopped making. As soon as I was curious, she put a paintbrush or a crochet hook in my hands and invited me to join her.

Clay entered my life when I was 12, the first year my middle school offered pottery. I was fixated. I spent the next several years taking ceramics classes through high school and continued working in an open studio while I was in college. Eventually, though I swapped the crochet hook for knitting needles and was making more sweaters than anyone ever really needs, graduate school and building my nutrition counseling practice left little room for the creative part of myself.

At 32, I decided it was time to make space for clay again.

Returning to the studio wasn't just about picking up where I'd left off. It was about exploring curiosity over perfection, play over pressure, and experimentation over attachment. Pottery became the place where I rediscovered a part of myself I'd been missing.

Today, my work is guided by the belief that everyday objects can be both useful and joyful. I strive to find a balance between function, form, and whimsy—creating pieces that feel good in your hands, catch your eye, and maybe even make you smile. They're meant to be cherished, but never so precious that they stay on a shelf. I hope they become part of your daily rituals: the mug you reach for every morning, the bowl that makes leftovers feel special, or the little piece that quietly brightens your day.

Every piece I make carries a bit of that joy with it. I like to think the good feelings really are baked in.