Found Series: letting the desert design the vessel
There's a moment on almost every hike when something on the ground stops me mid-step. A twisted, weathered branch. A sun-bleached piece worn smooth by monsoon runoff. A gnarled fork of desert wood that looks like it's been sitting in the wash for years. I pick it up, turn it over in my hands, and I already know: this is going into the studio.
That's how every piece in my Found Series begins. Not with a sketch. Not with a plan. With a walk. (Or, every so often, with a friend who has a good eye and hands me a piece they found.)
A series built backwards
Most of my work starts with an idea and I go looking for the materials to support it. The Found Series flips that process entirely. I don't envision the piece first and then hunt for wood to match it. Instead, the found piece leads the way. Its shape, its grain, the way it forks or curves or twists, all of that dictates what the ceramic form underneath it needs to be.
Some of these branches and roots are collected right here in the Sonoran Desert, on hikes through the washes and trails around Phoenix. Others have traveled home with me from other beautiful places I've wandered through.
Once I bring a piece home, I spend time with it. I look at how it wants to sit, where its weight naturally falls, whether it wants to rise up like a branch reaching for light or settle low and horizontal like something washed ashore. Then I build the vessel to hold it. Sometimes that means shaping the clay so it hugs the bit of wood perfectly, letting it nestle into place without needing to be tied down at all. Other times I use leather or copper wire to lash the two materials together, so the connection is visible and becomes part of the design.
Blackbird
A dark, spiked ceramic form cradles a forked piece of desert wood that reaches upward in two directions like wings mid-flight. In nature, spikes and thorns often exist for protection, a defense built right into the surface of a thing. I wanted this piece to carry that same instinct, honoring the raw, rugged beauty of the desert rather than softening it, so the ceramic form stands up to meet the wood's own wildness instead of smoothing it over. The contrast between the satin black glaze and the pale, weathered wood is a pairing I keep coming back to across this series.
Kimono
This piece started with a memory. The found wood reminded me of a traditional wooden hanger we saw during a stay at a ryokan in Japan, simple, functional, and beautiful in its design. So I built a vessel shaped like a kimono, hanging from that "hanger." I chose raku for this piece because it's an ancient Japanese firing method, fitting for a memory tied to Kurashiki, an old canal town in Japan lined with Edo-period storehouses and centuries of history. The technique also gives the piece its richly aged look, characteristic crackle, and smoky black-and-white patterning.
Arc
A wide, low, raku-fired vessel with a black textured band at its widest point that flares out like fins, this piece plays with negative space and horizon lines. There's no real control in raku, the fire and smoke decide as much as I do, but I love how the dramatic vertical lines along the seam, where the two planes meet, came out this time, echoing the grooves running through the wood itself. The found piece of wood immediately reminded me of the curve of a whale, and I hand-built two small prongs to hold the piece exactly where it needed to sit.
Deai
Deai means "encounter" or "chance meeting" in Japanese.
After our trip to Japan, I came home and made several pieces inspired by that exquisite country. This one started on the wheel, thrown as a single vessel, with the double prongs added afterward. I was drawn to the craggy texture of this particular piece of wood, and this time I fastened it using dark leather ties, letting the pale, crackled raku surface play against the darker cord. Notice the random, light crackle up top and none at all in the bottom half, this is raku at its best, unpredictable, honest, and never quite the same twice.
Two honeycomb vessels
A texture I love returning to, this honeycomb pattern shows up across a couple of different forms in the series. I've carved rows of small, hand-cut notches into the surface of each, giving them a honeycomb-like density and rhythm. One version is a taller, narrower jar, paired with a slender branch and a more delicate finial-like closure. The other is a lower, rounder vessel, where the proportions feel more balanced against a heavier, more gnarled piece of wood, letting the organic shape of the branch carry more visual weight against the form. Both are held closed with simple copper rings, one of the material combinations I mentioned above that lets metal, wood, and clay sit together in one composition.
Pleats
This piece of wood is mostly straight, but its texture, sun-bleached hue, and knots caught my attention. It reads almost like a natural finial, so I built a flatter lid that would let it sit exactly like that. I used this piece to experiment with a new hand-building technique, playing with vertical and horizontal lines that echo and complement the wood's own horizontal line across the top. It's glazed in a matte finish I reach for often, one with natural salt flecks that add even more texture to the surface. I also left the clay exposed where the lid meets the base, a small detail that visually connects back to the raw, natural wood resting on top.
Pas de Deux
This piece holds a special place for me, in fact, it's currently part of my personal collection. The wood arches up and out with a delicacy that reminds me of a dancer pointing her toes, arching her back, reaching into the air, right down to the tiny twig that breaks off like a trailing hand. This raku base was built specifically to hold that movement, low, round, and grounded, so the wood above it has room to perform. It felt right to name it after the relationship between the two: a dance between the piece that holds and the piece that flies.
Why this series resonates
I think the reason the Found Series connects with people is that it's honest about where inspiration actually comes from. It doesn't start on paper. It starts on a trail, in a wash, on a walk I almost didn't take. Each piece is proof that you don't have to invent everything from scratch. Sometimes the most interesting creative decision is simply paying attention to what's already there and building something worthy of it.
It's also, selfishly, one of the most fun series for me to make. There's no way to plan a Found piece months in advance the way I can with other collections. Every piece starts as a surprise, something I couldn't have planned for even if I tried.
The next find
The hunting never really stops. I was recently out in the desert for a photoshoot when I came across a cluster of bleached cholla skeletons, that lattice-like, honeycombed wood cactus leaves behind once everything soft has dried away. I couldn't walk past them. They're already sitting in my studio, and I have a feeling they'll inspire, or end up as part of, a future piece. I'll share where that goes as it takes shape.
Want to see more?
New pieces from the Found Series (and others) come together slowly, in the studio and out on the trail, so the best way to see what's next is to stay close to the process. You can read more about my background and approach on the About page, or get in touch directly through Contact if you'd like to inquire about a specific piece.
Follow along on Instagram where I share the hikes, the finds, and the studio process in real time. For first access to new Found Series work, plus a few pieces I don't always post publicly, join my inner circle for studio updates.