Why I use wild clay from the Catalan coast
I began working with wild clay from the Catalan coast because it carries a sense of place that prepared studio materials cannot fully imitate. Gathered from local ground, shaped by weather, minerals, salt, and time, it gives each piece a quiet connection to the landscape around Barcelona.
My ceramics often move between the Pacific Northwest of my imagination and the Mediterranean coastline beneath my feet. Wild clay helps bring those worlds together. Its earthy colors, irregular texture, and changing response in the kiln feel close to the natural forms that inspire my pottery, decorative plates, sculptures, and abstract paintings.
Working with found earth also asks me to slow down. I cannot expect the material to behave like a perfectly standardized commercial clay body. Instead, I listen to it, test it, and allow its character to become part of the finished work.
A coastline with its own vocabulary
The Catalan coast is full of visual contrasts: pale sand beside dark rock, dry hills meeting blue water, and weathered surfaces softened by wind. These contrasts appear naturally in wild clay. Depending on its source, the earth may contain iron-rich reds, warm ochres, muted browns, or gray tones that become more pronounced after firing.
I am drawn to those subtle variations rather than seeking uniformity. A hand-built vessel may show a fine grain in one area and a smoother patch in another. A sculptural form may hold tiny mineral flecks that catch the light. These marks are reminders that the material began outdoors, within a living landscape, before it entered my studio.
For me, this makes clay more than a medium. It becomes a record of terrain, climate, and movement. The finished object can feel grounded even when its shape is abstract.
From found earth to working clay
Wild clay is not ready to use as soon as it is collected. I gather small amounts responsibly and only where collection is permitted, avoiding protected areas and fragile habitats. Back in the studio, I dry the earth, break it down, remove stones and unwanted organic matter, then soak and sieve it before allowing it to settle.
The prepared material is blended with other clay bodies or tested in small batches. This step is essential because natural clay can vary considerably in plasticity, shrinkage, and firing behavior. Some samples are beautifully workable but crack as they dry. Others become too porous or melt at a temperature that is safe for a different batch.
Testing may involve tiles, pinch pots, coils, and small slabs. I record the source, preparation method, drying time, firing temperature, and final color. That patience lets me understand the clay without forcing it to behave like something it is not.
Surface, texture, and the memory of place
Wild clay changes the way I approach a surface. Its natural inclusions can create a gentle, sandy quality, while its color influences every layer of slip, glaze, and oxide placed above it. Sometimes I leave the surface nearly bare, using only a transparent finish to protect the form and reveal the earth underneath.
Texture is especially important in my coastal work. Impressions from leaves, shells, stones, and other natural objects can suggest tide lines, eroded cliffs, or the movement of grasses in a dry breeze. I explore these possibilities in my guide to natural texture, where simple objects become tools for building visual rhythm.
The clay also affects abstract imagery. On a decorative plate, a warm mineral body can become the sand beneath a painted horizon. A cooler surface may support layers of blue and white that suggest sky, sea, and changing light. My process for blending sky and sea begins with that conversation between material and landscape.
| Material quality | What I notice in the studio | How it can appear in a finished piece |
|---|---|---|
| Iron-rich color | Warm red, orange, or ochre tones | Earthy backgrounds and fired accents |
| Fine mineral particles | A softly gritty surface | Natural texture on plates and sculptures |
| Variable plasticity | Different levels of flexibility | Organic, hand-built silhouettes |
| Uneven shrinkage | Changes during drying and firing | Subtle movement and handmade character |
| Local inclusions | Small stones or visible flecks | A surface that recalls sand, rock, and soil |
A slower and more responsible studio practice
Using local earth does not automatically make a ceramic practice sustainable. Collection must be limited, thoughtful, and legal. I take only small quantities, never strip a site, and treat the landscape as a source to protect rather than a resource to exhaust. When a location feels vulnerable, I leave it untouched.
Wild clay also encourages a less wasteful rhythm. Instead of producing large quantities quickly, I work through samples and let successful tests guide future pieces. Failed experiments are valuable too: they reveal how a material responds and can often be crushed, reclaimed, or incorporated into another stage of the process.
This slower approach suits the way I want my work to exist. Each object carries evidence of touch, adjustment, and time. It does not need to look mechanically perfect to feel complete.
What I look for before collecting
I approach a potential clay source with curiosity, but also with practical care. These are the qualities I consider before bringing any earth back to the studio:
- A legal and clearly permitted place where a small collection will not disturb the environment
- A consistent color or texture that can be documented and traced to its source
- Enough plasticity to form without excessive cracking or crumbling
- A firing response that can be tested safely at studio temperatures
- A visual connection to the coastal landscape that supports the idea behind the work
The most exciting samples are not always the most useful. A clay may have a beautiful color but lack the strength needed for a functional vessel. Another may seem plain when wet and become richly atmospheric after firing. I try to judge each sample through repeated tests rather than first impressions.
Letting the material lead
Wild clay has changed my understanding of control. I still make deliberate choices about scale, silhouette, composition, and surface, but I leave room for the material to redirect the process. A slight warp may become part of a sculptural gesture. A firing variation may suggest a new palette. A rough edge may echo the broken line of a cliff.
That openness is visible in my abstract ceramics. I am interested in the point where a recognizable landscape becomes a feeling: a horizon, a tide mark, a dry hillside, or the shadow of a cloud. Local clay gives those impressions a physical foundation.
The result is work that feels connected to Barcelona without being literal. It may be a small decorative plate, a quiet vessel, or a sculptural form with no obvious image. Still, the color, grain, and touch of the material can carry the atmosphere of the coast.
Bring coastal clay into your own hands
I share this process through pottery workshops and relaxed clay experiences in Barcelona, where making can unfold alongside wine, tapas, and conversation. Working with clay in person reveals details that photographs cannot: the resistance of a slab, the softness of a polished edge, and the surprise of an unexpected texture.
Explore the available and sold works in my portfolio, follow new experiments on Instagram, and subscribe to the mailing list for studio news, exhibitions, and upcoming events. If the Catalan coast speaks to you, join me for a hands-on workshop or discover a piece shaped by its earth.