Judy Thompson

I am a potter. I work with clay because I love the feel of it . . . the way it moves and expands when thrown on a potter’s wheel. How, if it is well compressed and strong, it can feel like skin and muscle. And, if it is pulled up into a strong cylinder, it can be shaped into elegant forms that later become permanent. I make pots because I believe they will survive me. I hope that hundreds of years from now, someone will unearth a pot, or portion of one that I made, and will discover through examining it that someone cared enough to create an object of beauty in the 21st century and learn something about the world as it was when it was made.During earlier stages of my life and career, complete control over my creations was of prime importance to me. However, as I’ve matured, I now appreciate the beauty of giving up some of that control. Firing pottery in a pit takes a lot of faith in the benevolence of the fire. For it is the fire that in the end paints the colors, textures and patterns on my pots. In its infinite variables, the fire always creates something new on each piece. No two pots are ever the same. And therein lies the beauty of pit firing for me. Opening each pit at the end of a firing has all the wonder and excitement of Christmas morning.