Our studio began not with a business plan, but with a question: what happens when you give clay your full attention?
The year was 2018. I had spent a decade working in graphic design, creating digital experiences that disappeared with a screen refresh. There was skill in that work, certainly. But I craved something that would persist, that would age and develop character, that couldn't be deleted with a keystroke.
Finding a different rhythm
I enrolled in weekend pottery classes at a community center in Bern. The first bowl I threw collapsed immediately. The second cracked in the kiln. By the tenth attempt, I began to understand what the instructor meant when she said the clay would teach me if I listened.
What started as Saturday morning experimentation became an obsession. I read everything I could find about Japanese ceramics, Scandinavian design, ancient Greek pottery techniques. I visited museums differently, studying vessels with new eyes, trying to understand the decisions encoded in their forms.
Within two years, my apartment had become a makeshift studio. The spare bedroom held a small electric kiln. The kitchen table doubled as a glazing station. My partner, endlessly patient, tolerated clay dust on every surface.
The move to professional practice
The transition from hobbyist to professional wasn't a single moment but a series of small commitments. First commission: a set of espresso cups for a friend's new café. First exhibition: a group show at a gallery in Zürich that specialized in contemporary craft. First wholesale order: twenty pieces for a design shop in Basel.
Each step required new skills beyond making. Pricing work fairly. Photographing pieces well. Writing coherent artist statements. Managing inventory. Shipping fragile objects across Europe without disaster.
In 2020, we found the barn. It needed extensive renovation, but the space felt right immediately. High ceilings for proper ventilation. North light that doesn't shift dramatically throughout the day. Enough room for a serious kiln, a proper glaze lab, storage for clay and materials.
Our approach now
We work slowly and deliberately. Our output is perhaps a dozen major pieces per month, plus smaller production items that help sustain the practice financially. This pace allows for experimentation, for pieces that don't work out, for the learning that comes from pushing beyond comfortable territory.
We source materials from suppliers across Europe. Our primary clay comes from a family-run mine in Germany that's been operating since 1847. Glaze ingredients arrive from Belgium, France, and occasionally Japan. We test everything extensively before using it in commissions.
The work attracts people who value craft, who understand that handmade objects carry intention that mass production cannot replicate. Our clients range from private collectors to restaurants seeking custom tableware to architects incorporating ceramic elements into residential projects.
What drives the work
Fundamentally, we're interested in how objects shape daily experience. A well-designed bowl changes the ritual of breakfast. A thoughtfully glazed vessel becomes a focal point for contemplation. These aren't grand claims about art changing the world, but quiet observations about how craft intersects with life.
We also believe in transparency about materials and process. Ceramics can involve toxic substances if handled carelessly. We use lead-free glazes exclusively. Our studio maintains ventilation systems that exceed safety requirements. Waste clay gets recycled or donated to schools.
Looking ahead, we're interested in expanding our workshop program, developing relationships with more architectural practices, and continuing to push our understanding of glaze chemistry. The practice evolves, but the core commitment remains the same: making objects that deserve to exist.