Moving from NYC to Seattle in 2021 felt like stepping into a slower rhythm — one shaped by rain, evergreens, and a community that genuinely honors its connection to the earth (and actually pauses to notice the sky). The Pacific Northwest has a way of grounding you whether you ask for it or not. For me, it became the place where my work could deepen and my shoulders could finally drop away from my ears.

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By night (and plenty of long stretches in between), I’m a full-time OB RN, primarily practicing in labor and delivery. My work is intimate, intense, and deeply human. It asks me to be steady, sharp, and fully present in some of life’s biggest moments. Clay became the counterbalance — the place where I could set down the mental checklist and let my hands lead.

 

My ceramic work focuses on the quiet heroes of daily life — the mugs we overuse, the vessels that hold our kitchen scraps, the rasp that only sees daylight in autumn for grated nutmeg. I’m interested in weaving art into the objects we run ragged and rarely thank. I don’t want precious things. I want meaningful ones. Pieces that soften your morning coffee or make a Tuesday dinner feel slightly ceremonial. Alongside clay, I also create paper crane mobiles — each crane hand-folded from yuzen paper. They’re small studies in balance and movement, suspended in thoughtful arrangements that shift with light and air. Different themes, different color stories, but always the same intention: joy. A flicker of childlike awe. A gentle nudge to look up.

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And of course, Dot and Louie — the name behind all of this — are my grandmothers. This business is my small heart note to them. They raised me on watercolor afternoons in the summer vegetable garden, embroidery projects at the kitchen table, origami folded with patient hands, and every messy craft in between. They’re the reason my hands never stayed clean and why making things feels like home. The through-line from their gardens to my studio feels straight and unbroken.​

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Everything I make, whether it’s a mug, a mobile, or a class on the wheel, comes from that intersection of steadiness and softness. Of ritual and whimsy. Of wanting the everyday to feel just a little more intentional.​