End of Week 1: Ceramic Residency in Vetulonia, Italy
It’s the end of my first week in Vetulonia, Italy, high in the mountains of Tuscany, where I’m embedded in a six-week ceramic residency. While Milwaukee is enduring what feels like Arctic conditions, I’m experiencing an entirely different kind of weather here. In a place known for its temperate and dry climate, this week has brought daily rain, cold temperatures, and, over the weekend, destructive winds. The mountain microclimate is unpredictable, but it’s undeniably stunning.
Every day, mist rises from hot springs at ground level, and from my kitchen porch, if you squint hard enough, you can spot the Tyrrhenian Sea, marshes, and Castiglione della Pescaia, roughly 25 kilometers away. (A fun linguistic side note: despite its name suggesting a "place with a church," the Italian word for church is chiesa, not Pescaia.)
Mornings and evenings here start with visits from one to three members of the local cat family—especially when there’s food around. Stinky cheese or cured meats are their favorites. The hospitality here is unparalleled. Our host provides a daily breakfast of fresh bread, eggs, jams, fruit, and a cornetto (croissant). There’s also Greek yogurt with homemade granola. During weekdays, we share a hot, family-style lunch around the kitchen table with the extended commune family. Andrea, the owner and chef of Il Baciarino, oversees this tradition. While his restaurant is closed during my residency, a traveling “Work Away” resident chef from Argentina, Meri, has taken over the kitchen, preparing incredible Italian and Argentinian dishes.
The Role of Meals and My Artistic Practice
A key focus of my residency is exploring how communal meals impact collaboration and communication in Italian households. Lunch, in particular, holds immense cultural significance. Every day, an hour is set aside to gather over handmade pasta, bread, meats, and wine, served from ceramic dishes created right here in the studio.
This tradition has inspired my practice, which revolves around creating sculptures that double as functional dinnerware. However, turning this vision into reality has been far more challenging than I imagined. Structurally and logistically, designing dishware that can be removed from a metal armature, used in a meal, and then returned to the sculpture has pushed my engineering skills to their limits.
The Learning Process: Clay and Resilience
This week, I also wrestled—literally and figuratively—with a 2-pound block of clay. The physicality of the work, combined with lingering jet lag, made it an exhausting start. My first attempts felt terrible. But I kept going, and every day, it gets a little better. I’ve been reminded of a lesson I forgot over the past 30 years: you’ll make a lot of terrible things before you make even one good thing. And that’s okay. The process of learning is more important than perfection.
What I’m Working On
Between grappling with clay, I’ve been:
Building frames for sculptures.
Throwing large, gravity-defying vessels.
Making test pieces for raku, soda, and wood firings.
Experimenting with different clay bodies, glazes, and chemicals.
Participating in at least two workshops a week.
Going on cultural trips around the area.
Final Thoughts
This residency is pushing my creativity, my body, and my mind in the best possible ways. It’s intense, humbling, and exhilarating all at once. I can’t imagine being anywhere else. Thank you for following along on this journey—I’m excited to share more in the weeks to come.
The Raku process & the result
Vetulonia
Ertuscan & modern inspiration and an almost finished piece
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