Being a ceramicist often means embarking on an adventure full of uncertainties, trials, errors, and doubts. When I first started, everything moved very quickly. Finding a studio, developing a style I liked, choosing a name, a signature...
all of this was necessary, and I felt the pressure, both for economic reasons and for legitimacy. I had to move fast to make a living from my passion.
When I found my first studio, I was filled with enthusiasm. The pace was intense but exciting. I threw myself into creating wholeheartedly, knowing that I had to quickly figure out what would define me as an artist. However, this rush, I realize now, also distanced me from what truly resonated with me.
Upon joining my new studio a few months later, the challenges shifted. I found myself spending several months producing just to fill my kiln. And that kiln is big, very big. It took time, effort, and a lot of adjustment. I also had to recreate my own glazes, which took an enormous amount of energy. The hardest part was dealing with the technical limitations imposed on me because I didn’t yet have my own studio—things like the type of clay and glazes I could use. This shift disrupted my creative process.
Then came the crucial moment: the first kiln opening in June. I had worked hard for months leading up to it. But when I opened the kiln, everything had changed. My glazes looked completely different from what I was used to. The fatigue had piled up, and the disappointment was immense. That’s when I decided to take a break, to disconnect, and to use the summer to recharge.
During those months, I found a studio where I could teach pottery classes four times a week, which gave me a stable income for the school year. But despite this financial security, I didn’t really take the time to deeply reflect on what I wanted for my own practice. I thought I would use the vacation to recharge and come back with a clearer vision. However, by the end of summer, that clarity still hadn’t come.
When September arrived, I returned to the studio. But as I went back, I felt a knot in my stomach. I found myself making the same shapes, using the same glazes, and carrying the same worries about upcoming firings. This anxiety hit me harder than ever. What I had heard so often in this craft—about firing issues, frequent mistakes—suddenly became a lived reality. It was another step, and not an easy one.
Deep down, I knew that what I was producing didn’t fully represent me. I felt trapped in a routine that, while allowing me to create, didn’t reflect what I truly wanted to express as an artist. This is a profound doubt that many artisans experience at some point: the feeling of losing yourself along the way, of being pulled away by demands that distance you from your true creative voice.
Today, I’m still in the midst of reflection, navigating and trying to find the right balance between creation and introspection. My journey is far from settled, and that’s what makes it so rich and complex. I’m trying to ground myself in what I truly want to do, without giving in to external pressures, without betraying what deeply speaks to me. The adventure continues, with its ups and downs, and especially with this determination to find my balance between creation and the realities of the craft.
In the coming weeks, I’ll be working “under the radar,” focusing on designing, prototyping, and creating a design project that, I hope, will truly reflect who I am. It’s a period of introspection and sketching, where I’m aiming to reconnect with what truly resonates with me. I can’t reveal too much yet, but I’m excited to share this project with you once it’s further along.
Of course, I’ll continue to share my progress and reflections with you as I embark on this new direction.
Ceramicist : Navigating Between Creation and Introspection.
Lucie Eleme, september 2024
Photos : Arnaud Jolly, Lucie Eleme
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