One of one
A note on uniqueness, and on words.
Every piece I make is one of one. Thrown once, carved once, fired once.
If you commission a piece with words that are yours — words you wrote, words your grandmother used to say, a private joke between you and someone you love — those words are yours alone. They will not appear on another piece I make. Not a copy, not a variation, not in another commission years from now.
The only exception is language that already belongs to the world: a line from Shakespeare, a hymn, the lyric of a song everyone knows. These can be inscribed, but they cannot be retired, because they were never mine to give.
Once a piece leaves the workshop, the words leave with it.
And the making of it stays. Every commissioned piece is given its own page on this site — the throwing, the slipping, the scratching, the wording, the glazing, the final reveal — so that the jug in your hands has, somewhere, a quiet record of how it came to be.
How a custom inscription is commissioned.
You send the words. A line, a couplet, a saying, a name and a date. Anything from a few words to a short verse. Send them by the contact form, with any context that would help me carve them well.
I confirm they are yours to give. If the words are original to you or your family, they qualify for the pledge. If they are from a published source — a book, a song, scripture — the piece can still be made, but the words remain in the world's hands.
The piece is made, and the words are retired. Once the commission is fired and delivered, those words are added to the register below. They will not appear on another piece I make.
A page of its own.
Every piece I finish is given its own page on this site. Not a certificate, not a proof — just an honest record of how it was made.
The page follows the same six stages every piece passes through: throwing, slipping, scratching, wording, glazing, and the final reveal. Each stage carries a photograph from the workshop and a few lines about the work at that point in its life.
For a commissioned piece, the page also holds the inscription as it was carved, the date it left the kiln, and the household it was made for if the family is happy to be named. If they prefer to remain unnamed, the page says so plainly.
The page stays on the site for as long as the site stands. Years from now, the jug on your shelf will still have its quiet ledger here — a small witness that it was made by hand, for you, only the once.
You can see the existing pages in the works →
The register.
Words retired from future commissions.
- 2023
And still the garden waits for us.
For the Hartley family — silver wedding anniversary.
- 2024
Withheld at the commissioner's request.
A private inscription, 2024.
- 2024
Mind how you go, my love.
For the Whitcombe family — in memory of a grandmother.
- 2025
We planted it together, and it grew.
For the Penrose household — a tenth wedding anniversary.
If you would like to commission a piece, write to me here →