This summer was the busiest since the creation of Luloba Céramique, but also one of the most rewarding, surprising, and stimulating.
I am ending this season with a deep sense of accomplishment, a lot of enthusiasm for what’s next, but also with a great deal of reflection on the evolution of my practice. My project involving large-scale pieces continues to gain momentum, and right now, I find myself in what I like to call the period of infinite possibilities.
It is that wonderful stage of a project where everything still seems possible. There are many avenues, ideas multiply, and every experiment opens the door to a new question or a new direction.
I am starting to slowly feel the limits taking shape. The space in my studio, the size of my kiln, the equipment I have available, and the improvements that will eventually need to be made are starting to influence what I can create. But I am still in that phase of discovery where the path remains wide open. And I am trying to enjoy it fully before the project naturally begins to impose its own constraints. In hindsight, I realize that this summer offered me exactly the right succession of experiences to move the project forward in this direction.
It all began with a masterclass in Vermont with Stephen Proctor, which allowed me to continue perfecting my large-scale construction techniques. It was a valuable opportunity to dedicate time to technique, to learn from someone so experienced, and to leave with new tools to continue my research.
Then came the Tour des Arts, which allowed me to do something completely different: share my project directly with my local audience. For nine days, I created one large piece per day as a demonstration for the public. I was able to explain my process, discuss my research, and exchange with visitors about what I am currently exploring. It was extremely rewarding to be able to show the work as it was being built, rather than just presenting the pieces once they were finished.
It was also an excellent way to quickly test the market. There is always a certain vulnerability in presenting a new direction in one’s work and waiting to see how people will react. Fortunately, the response was very encouraging. You seem to like the large pieces! The project was quickly considered viable, which gave me a great boost of confidence and confirmed that there was indeed an audience for this new direction.
And the day after the Tour des Arts ended, I had to be in Val-David first thing in the morning for a five-day residency at 1001 Pots. Once again, I was working on my large pieces, but exploring another approach: building them in sections and experimenting with modular formats.
I loved this experience. First, because working outside the studio always feels good, but also because it allowed me to continue discussing with the public while having access to a community of potters I don't necessarily interact with on a daily basis.
Every day at 1001 Pots, several potters are present to volunteer for the event. It is therefore an exceptional opportunity to cross paths with colleagues I probably wouldn't see otherwise during the year, to see their work, to discuss our practices, and above all, to get their feedback on my own research.
Their reflections, openness, enthusiasm, and encouragement were extremely valuable. These exchanges are truly part of how my practice evolves. A conversation with another ceramicist can sometimes open a door to a possibility one hadn't yet considered.
This summer also gave me the privilege of completing my first installation for a client. Seeing one of my large pieces in its own environment, rather than in the studio or an exhibition, was particularly rewarding. I have always imagined these pieces in relation to the landscape and architecture, and seeing it take its place in what appears to be its natural habitat allowed me to glimpse even more of what this project could become.
Finally, this summer, I started learning raku with John Davidson. John is one of the most generous potters I have had the chance to meet, and it is a true pleasure to spend time with him. I particularly love his commitment to wabi-sabi, that way of embracing imperfection, accident, change, and everything that escapes control.
It is a beautiful lesson for me, not only on a technical level but also in how I look at my own work. There is something deeply liberating about letting go of some control over the process and accepting the marks it chooses to leave on the piece.
As the summer draws to a close, I find myself somewhere between fatigue and enthusiasm. I am taking a few weeks off to slow down, catch my breath, and find my bearings again. This summer has been full on every level, and I need a bit of space to let everything I’ve learned settle in.
I will return in September with another project that excites me a lot: I will start teaching a course again for the first time in two years. And, to my great surprise, I am really looking forward to it.
I will be returning to the level 2 wheel throwing groups, and I feel like I have evolved so much as a potter since the last time I taught. I am eager to get back to class with this new energy, this curiosity, and all the experiments that currently fuel my practice.
For now, however, I am trying not to rush to the next step. The large pieces continue to evolve. Questions are multiplying. The possibilities are still numerous.
And I believe that is exactly where I want to be.
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