The Absence of the Wheel
In the world of ceramics, most people imagine the spinning blur of the potter’s wheel—the machine-aided speed, the centrifugal force, the instant gratification of a shape rising in seconds. But in my studio, the wheel is silent. I am a hand-builder.
Hand-building is a slower, more deliberate conversation between the maker and the earth. It is a rebellion against the mechanical. There is no shortcut, no motor, and no perfect symmetry provided by a spinning plate. Every vessel I create is born from the heat of my palms and the steady rhythm of my own breath. It is an process of patience.
Coil by Coil, Choice by Choice
When I build a tall vessel using the coiling technique, I am reminded of how we build our lives. You cannot simply wish a tall structure into existence; you have to lay the first coil, score the clay, and join it firmly to the base. Then you add the next. And the next.
If you try to add too many layers too quickly, the weight of the wet clay will cause the entire structure to slump and collapse. You have to wait. You have to let the bottom layers "set up" and find their strength before they can support the weight of the future.
In our modern "rat race" culture, we are told to build our dreams overnight. We are pressured to have the finished "product" before we’ve even secured the foundation. But a Rebel knows the value of the slow build. We know that a life constructed coil by coil—one intentional choice at a time—is infinitely more resilient than one spun out of thin air by a machine.
The Integrity of the Join
As a hand-builder, the most critical part of the process is the "join." Where two slabs of clay meet, or where one coil sits upon another, there is a potential point of failure. If I don't spend the time to properly score and slip the edges—to truly weave the two pieces together—the fire of the kiln will find the weakness and pull them apart.
Our relationships and our commitments are no different. It is easy for things to look seamless on the surface, but the true integrity of a life is found in the joins. It’s in the quiet work we do to connect our values to our actions, and our past to our present. A handcrafted life isn't about being "perfectly smooth"; it’s about ensuring that every connection is deep, honest, and strong enough to survive the fire.
The Beauty of the Human Mark
There is a specific "wabi-sabi" beauty in hand-built work. You can see the slight ghost of a thumbprint in the curve of a bowl; you can feel the subtle irregularity where the hand guided the clay. It isn't factory-perfect, and that is exactly why it matters.
In my Dutch design background, I appreciate clean lines and modern aesthetics. But as a Rebel, I’ve learned that the most "modern" thing we can do is stay human. By leaving the marks of our hands on our work—and on our lives—we are making a statement. We are saying: I was here. I touched this. I built this myself. ---
The Rebel Lesson: Honor the Foundation
The world will try to rush you. It will tell you that you are falling behind because you are building slowly, piece by piece. Do not listen. The "fast" life is often hollow; it lacks the structural integrity that only time and touch can provide.
If you are in a season of "setting up"—if you feel like you are waiting for your foundation to get strong enough to support your next move—don't rush it. Use this time to ensure your "joins" are strong. Trust the rhythm of your own hands. A life built by hand may take longer to finish, but it is the only kind of life that can truly stand the heat of the fire.
What are you building "coil by coil" right now? Is it a new project, a new habit, or a new version of yourself? How are you honoring the slow process of the build?
Craft your own path,
Bertie