Kristen Clawson

I’ve always been interested in the things we live with every day. Not necessarily the things we save for special occasions, but the ones we reach for without thinking—a favorite mug in the morning, a bowl that somehow always seems to end up on the kitchen counter, a vase that has held flowers, branches, and sometimes nothing at all. These are ordinary objects, but over time they can become anything but ordinary. That is one of the reasons I make functional pottery. I like the idea that a handmade piece doesn’t have to sit on a shelf to be appreciated. It can be used. It can become familiar. Maybe a mug develops a small mark from years of use, or a bowl becomes the one you always reach for because it simply feels right in your hands. I pay a lot of attention to that feeling when I make a piece—the balance, the weight, the rim, the way the shape fits in your hand. I want something to be beautiful, but I also want it to work. Living in Ojai influences my work in quieter ways, too. I’m surrounded by open spaces, old trees, weathered fences, dry grasses, stones and the changing colors of the landscape. I’m drawn to surfaces and forms that feel a little softened by time rather than perfectly new. I like a little evidence of the hand. A glaze that pools or breaks in unexpected places. A shape that feels simple but not quite predictable. Sometimes I bring pieces of the landscape into my work—leaves, grasses, stones, branches or other natural materials gathered around the Ojai Valley. They might become part of the surface, an element of the composition, or simply the inspiration for a form. I think handmade pottery has a special ability to settle into our lives. It doesn’t have to announce itself as art. It can simply become part of breakfast, dinner with friends, flowers from the garden, or a quiet cup of coffee before the day begins. And somewhere along the way, the object becomes connected to those moments. That’s the part I love most.

When I began thinking about my piece for How We See It, I found myself looking at something I see almost every day: a eucalyptus tree. There is something wonderful about living in the Ojai Valley. We are surrounded by an abundance of natural beauty, but because we see it so often, it can become part of the background. We drive past the same trees, walk beneath the same branches, and notice the landscape without always really seeing it. A single eucalyptus branch from a local tree became both my subject and my tool. I placed the leaves directly onto the clay and traced their forms, then carefully carved each line by hand. The process made me pay attention to details I might normally overlook—the length and curve of the leaves, the branching veins, the irregularities that make each one unique. I then applied slip to create texture and depth before applying four different layers of glaze. Each layer contributes something different, creating depth, movement, and subtle variations across the vessel. I titled the piece Beauty in the Familiar because I think we sometimes need to pause and really see the things we have become accustomed to. Beauty doesn't always announce itself. This piece is my invitation to slow down and look more closely, because sometimes How We See It begins simply with taking the time to notice.

People often ask whether my work is functional pottery or ceramic art, and my answer is usually: both. Art is often expected to tell a story. My work is a little different. I make vessels to live with—pieces that are beautiful, useful, and become part of your story. I want a mug that feels balanced in your hands during a quiet morning. I want a vase that changes character depending on what it holds—branches one week, flowers the next, and sometimes standing empty and beautiful in between. I want bowls that become part of everyday rituals, with surfaces that hold up to daily use and continue to feel special over time. I hope my work becomes more valued not because it is preserved, but because it becomes familiar—woven into the routines and moments of everyday life. Working from my home studio in Ojai, I’m surrounded by open spaces, weathered fences, dry grasses, beautiful trees, and the quiet grace of things that improve with time. That landscape finds its way into my forms. I’m drawn to simple shapes, softened edges, and surfaces that feel aged rather than perfected. My work tends toward a modern farm aesthetic—grounded, useful, and understated. But I also love moments of surprise: glazes that interact differently across each piece and textures that invite a second look. For me, the best ceramic pieces are not the ones kept safely in a cupboard. They are the ones that become part of daily life. Used often. Reached for without thinking. Appreciated more with time. Pieces that function well enough to become part of your story.

Nature As My Co-Designer I’m so grateful to have nature as my "inspiration board." There’s a certain peace in stepping outside the studio and letting the local landscape take the lead. The Green Glaze Quest Of all the colors, green has long been a favorite of mine. With so many variations in nature, I feel entitled to as many as I want in my own work! These stacking bowls are my attempt to capture that perfect, leafy hue—they look right at home against the weathered grain of aged wood. Botany Meets Bas-Relief Why draw a leaf when I can use the real thing? It’s an absolute pleasure to wander my garden or take a walk to gather plant material. These wall hooks were such a fun project—pressing lavender and the random sprig of something or another directly into the clay. The result? A permanent "record" of the valley that smells (in my imagination, at least) like, well, Ojai. Cycle of Life (Aka: The Chrysalis) A rather humbling aspect of being a creator is being reminded that nature is way better at it than I am. Case in point: a Monarch caterpillar decided to set up shop right outside my front door. Watching that perfect, gold-trimmed chrysalis form makes my best hand-thrown vase look like a rough draft. It’s also a great reminder to slow down—nature doesn't rush the "firing" process, and neither should I. The Texture of the Banksia The bottom pod is the real deal, but the top one is my own hand-sculpted version made from wild clay collected from nearby Matilija Canyon. I feel like my clay version captures that earthy, rugged texture of the original. Seeing them side-by-side is rather fun! Trying to mimic the intricate, prehistoric detail of the pod was a challenge, but using clay straight from the canyon floor makes it feel like a genuine piece of the landscape. Finding the Flow At the end of the day, these pieces are more than just clay and glaze; they are snapshots of the world right outside my door. Embracing the "perfect imperfections" of a seed pod or a stray leaf helps me stay connected to the best inspiration. Whether I'm foraging in the valley or just watching a cocoon on the porch, I'm reminded that the best art isn't just made—it's often found.