Born from the inherently black and white nature (in aesthetics and ethics) of the comics/manga universe, the surfaces of my pieces are used as utilitarian canvases to explore individuals' narratives. Alone the images may appear mundane, but they cry out to the viewer “What happens next?!” and “How did this happen??” As though the image is torn directly out of a comic book, the viewer must ponder and construct the rest of the story for themselves.
To this end, my work is made using very traditional comic/manga materials and processes. The illustrations are drawn with a crow-quill pen, shaded with an application of half-tones, and ultimately screenprinted by hand. My pots are all slabbed, coiled, pinched, and intentionally left loose, utilizing slip colors that reference paper and aged newsprint. In an increasingly digital age, I find a surprising amount of satisfaction using these tactile and, frankly, fallible techniques. And, just like the overall tone of my work, the illustrations show everything, blemishes and all. On some of my pieces, I utilize gold or silver luster to intentionally censor part of my drawing. Through abrasion, the luster fades and eventually the entire image can be seen; with an obvious reference to scratch-off lottery tickets, these pieces can either be revealed in a few minutes of hard scrubbing or months of consistent use.
By applying my narratives to functional pottery, I hope to encourage the user to examine a single moment from all angles. As time goes on and the piece sees habitual use, what initially may have seemed obvious slowly becomes uncertain and fuzzy. Suddenly one day, you come to understand and sympathize with the character you had always thought of as an asshole. After all, in the real world, everyone is their own protagonist and super hero. So the least we can do is try our best to understand each other.