There’s a particular kind of mess that takes over the studio when the monsters are in production. Little limbs queued up on a board. Pairs of eyes drying on a tile. A row of round bellies, each one hollow, each one waiting for a face. It’s chaos — but it’s the good sort.
People ask me all the time how these little characters come to be, so I thought I’d lift the lid on it properly. The short answer: very slowly, and almost entirely with my fingers. The long answer is below.
How a lump of clay grows a face
Every monster starts as a pinched, hollow body — built up in my palms a section at a time and joined while the clay is still soft. The belly has to be hollow or the whole thing would crack in the kiln, so the trapped air needs a tiny escape hatch — often a poked-open mouth, sometimes a nostril, sometimes a cheeky little belly button.
Then the personality starts arriving. Ears get pinched and pressed on while the body is still tacky enough to take them. Feet are rolled, splayed, and given toes one at a time. Eyes are made separately as tiny domes and pushed home — the colour goes on later, but that’s the moment the monster suddenly looks at you. Teeth, wings, a held-up heart, a tucked-in bunny — every extra bit is added wet so it fuses cleanly through the firings.
Then comes two trips through the kiln — once bisque, once glaze — and the glaze is where the real surprises happen. A speckled stoneware here, a pool of green there, a wash of pink that pulls into the texture. I never quite know which monster’s going to come out looking smug, startled or properly delighted with itself until I open the kiln door.
No two ever come out the same — they couldn’t if I tried. The clay and the kiln have opinions of their own, and I’ve learned to take their notes.
A smaller drop than I’d planned
Now for the slightly bittersweet bit. The monsters have been a runaway hit at the local markets these last few weeks — far more flew off the table than I’d dared expect, and that means fewer have made it back to the studio shelf for the website drop than I’d originally lined up.
I’d rather tell you straight than quietly put a thinner drop online and hope nobody notices. Every piece is one-of-a-kind and hand-built start to finish, so once a particular monster’s gone, that exact little face is gone for good — the next batch will look related, but never identical.
If one catches your eye when the shop opens, don’t dawdle. And if your favourite slips away before you get there, the kiln’s already humming for the next round — follow along on Instagram for the kiln-opening reveals, and I’ll let you know when the next batch lands.
