about not necessary

I’ve always loved ceramics. Some of my earliest memories are of standing for hours in front of my grandmother’s china cabinet, captivated by her collection of intricately painted Japanese ceramics. Each piece felt unlike anything else in my everyday life. They were beautiful and precious—brought out for family meals or to display a speical bouquet of flowers.​ Of course, we could have served the same food on Tupperware, or put flowers in a mason jar. My grandmother’s china was not necessary. But its beauty made an ordinary moment feel special. That idea—that beautiful, thoughtfully made objects can enrich our everyday lives—has stayed with me.

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As an adult, I took up ceramics as a hobby and a way to connect with my community and fell in love. Throwing on the wheel did not come naturally to me. I was persistent, though, and along the way I made plenty of mistakes, along with more than a few ugly and misshapen pieces. Those early struggles became an important part of my appreciation for the craft.

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My ceramics journey is still evolving, and that is part of what I love about it. There is endless nuance in the process: the choice of clay, the shape and texture of a piece, the glaze, the firing temperature, and even the unexpected results that emerge from the kiln. Each decision influences the next, and the possibilities are endless. No two pieces are ever quite the same.

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Through my work, I hope to create pieces that are not only functional, but bring a sense of beauty, character, and pleasure to everyday life. After all, ceramics may not necessary—we can eat from Tupperware and put flowers in a mason jar—but the right object can make an ordinary moment feel more meaningful. I want my pieces to be objects that people choose to live with, use, treasure, and enjoy: not necessary, perhaps, but worth having.​

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Malia

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