Most Monday meetings start with me saying the same thing: “This week is going to be crazy.” Steph always laughs because she knows what’s coming. The whirlwind. The improvising. The way a studio can shift under your feet even as you’re trying to ground yourself.
But next Monday, I’m retiring that line.
This year didn’t feel like a string of chaotic weeks. It felt like one long turning. Each shift unfolding into the next. A pivot that reshaped everything.
Not only did I completely pivot my business model, but I dropped and added shows, developed an entirely new body of work, stopped doing in-person shows in my building, and bought a camper. That last part can wait for another story.
The pivotal moment of the year was exactly that: a pivot.
Letting go of the pottery business felt like a fail. It’s what sustained me when I moved back to Cleveland twelve years ago without a job. It’s the business I built from scratch, piece by piece. What I didn’t expect was that it would somehow hold me back.
Once I saw that clearly, everything else fell into place. I’ve learned that in terms of my business, I tend to think in absolutes. The only thing that is an absolute is that everything will change. I’m now practicing saying on the daily 'this is how things are, for now'.
One thing has stayed constant: my core vision to honor beauty and presence through art. The thing that has changed is the form that vision needed to take.
Lessons Learned This Year
(or old lessons returning, as they tend to do)
- The work gets done because you’re doing the work. Simple. Grounding. Always true.
- Art is a practice. A muscle you build. This year, I practiced getting right back into wet clay work as soon as I returned from a trade show, or our annual creative sabbatical to Maine.
- It’s okay for things to end. An ending isn’t only an ending. It’s space for something else to grow.
- Make what you want to make. Everything else will follow. The Boulders came out of a dark stretch early in the year. I was angry, grieving a country I didn’t quite recognize, and trying to make sense of it. Those emotions turned into something monumental and steady. Objects filled with strength, peace, and stillness. It’s amazing what can emerge when we allow ourselves to feel fully and keep making anyway.
If there’s anything this year reinforced for me, it’s that change doesn’t have to come from crisis. Sometimes it comes from paying close attention and choosing to respond.
Looking Ahead
This year was transformative, magical, hard, good, and real. I wouldn’t change it. This was also the first year I seriously thought about longevity. About the next ten years, and the ones after that. Not stopping making work, but loosening the grip of running everything forever. These are my thoughts for now.
I didn’t master rest, but I did build it in. One work-from-home day each week. Small pauses inside each day. Time off that lives on the calendar, not just in theory. Moving forward, my accountabilities are tangible and visible: fewer releases, longer timelines, clear financial tracking, calendar boundaries, and living documents instead of rigid plans.
I’m excited to see what a full calendar year looks like in this new direction. I’m eager to explore different facets of the work, push ideas further, and make with a little more abandon and a little less concern for what things should be.
And I can’t wait to share it with you.
As we move through these dark weeks toward the solstice and all a new year holds, I want to thank you for walking with me. To see each other clearly and love what we see is one of the greatest gifts we can give.
Thank you for seeing me, supporting me, and cheering me on. I can’t wait to do the same for you.
