Annette Lindenberg

The work I produce is only in part for myself, in part for others to discover for themselves; to examine and to feel how they wish to. When making, I remind myself that what I produce has longevity once fired, an ability to live on and must speak despite my narrative. My thoughts and process are the build up to my objects but may not always define them. Like the pebbles I collected as a child or the textures I am drawn to, all are but the womb in which the works are imagined and brought into being.

As potters we have the ability to bring life to our earth in strange and imaginative ways, to grow forms from it and undo what we have made. I do not believe every object must be fired or glazed, some will simply melt away into my bucket of water to be reused another day, while others spend time with me as I observe them over weeks and months, analysing their shape, deciding how to fire them. Clay’s ability to sense the maker, their movements, their feelings, their eye for curation is unlike many other materials. It speaks to us in different ways, forming glass layers, stone-like textures and in combination with other natural substances, forming objects that record a snapshot in time.

When combining glazes over one another, the compatibility between the glazes can create predictable and unpredictable results. The 'Reactive silver droplets' glazed pieces are a layering of two incompatible glazes. During the firing, reactions between these occurred to form iridescent purple hues around silver glaze clusters.

The art of Kurinuki, hollowing out and carving from a block of clay, has a reductive quality. Each layer, form, speckle of texture, is uncovered by my careful digging. Block are carefully formed by the layering of different clays, which become apparent during the carving. Shapes evolve through a collaboration between maker and clay, showing off tool marks, an uneven thickness and other attributes often considered undesirable in modern day pottery. The method can feel primitive and yet intuitive - discovering what you are making as you go rather than approaching objects with a preconceived notion of how they must look. Every cut counts and this “pruning” of the clay has the ability to create works full of sensitivity.

I have to hold my work, take it with me on walks, to examine it like I examined the rocks in my pockets when I was 5. My personal narrative towards my work lies in a need to not always understand why but to enjoy the how, making connections later. I have discovered that it is not until after making, through evaluation and contemplation, that I begin to understand the puzzle I have created. Often I can see aspects of my own life coming through in what appeals to me- whether that be a warm toasted clay that reminds me of the sand between my toes or glazes that take me back to watching sea spray hitting the rocks.