People often ask me where the idea for Nummias came from. The truth is, I don’t think they began as an idea at all. After a period of change, I stepped away from my career in brand and digital marketing and returned to making with my hands - creating objects that existed physically, not just on a screen. Clay and I hadn’t always been an easy fit - in fact, we’d spent a long time not getting along at all. But with a little more patience (and a bit more life behind me), I found

There is a point in making where something shifts. Not in the hands, exactly - but in the feeling. A piece stops being shaped and starts being recognised, and that is where Nummias begin. Nummias are not designed in a fixed way - there is no sketch, no correct proportion, no ideal expression I am aiming for. Instead, each one arrives through a kind of noticing - a quiet agreement between the material and myself. A tilt becomes a posture, small marks become a face, and then a

Ceramics and I have history, and not the romantic kind. This story begins with a ceramic workshop in London with artist Karina Smagulova - and a return to clay I never expected. In my twenties, I studied Applied Arts, working with metal, wood and ceramics. I loved the decisiveness of metal and the solidity of wood - they felt immediate and obedient. But ceramics and I never quite got along. It felt slow and unforgiving. You couldn’t rush it, you had to wait for it to dry, wai