When I arrived in Menton for the Ceramic Festival, the air felt different — it was the start of summer, and so were the competitions. There were potters in every sight, languages overlapping, shapes and forms new to my eyes. Artists had come from all across Europe and beyond. Instantly, I knew this wasn't a casual demonstration. It was competition.
As the young American representative, I was placed in the first set of throwers. No time to observe or practice with the new red, sandy clay — just 7 kilos of clay, 20 minutes on the clock, and the challenge: create the largest closed, egg-shaped form. Centering and throwing this amount of clay takes serious training. Moving this much mass efficiently takes all your energy and focus — mind, hands, and the vessel beneath you.
Twenty minutes feels long until you're shaping something that large. Then it disappears. With the sound of the timer, I stepped back and looked at what I'd made. It resembled an egg — which, at that scale, in that time, was the point.
Day two: the widest bowl in 20 minutes. This I had more confidence in. Day three: the tallest cylinder. Scores from all three challenges were combined. Watching the numbers go up on the leaderboard alongside potters from around the world was surreal. These weren't hobbyists — they were representatives of their countries, their passion. Throwers who live on the wheel.
Standing there, clay still under my nails, surrounded by artists from across Europe and beyond, I felt grateful. Grateful to represent my work on that stage. Grateful to be pushed. Grateful to see what happens when you put yourself under pressure and let the clay answer back.
