A studio full of clay… and kindness

When Lifeline WA asked if I could make 200 handmade ceramic bowls for their biggest fundraiser of the year, the Black Diamond Gala Dinner, my first reaction wasn’t graceful or inspiring.

It was: “Hard pass.”

Not because I didn’t care – I care deeply. But because, if you know anything about ceramics, you’ll know this: it’s a slow craft. Every bowl is touched dozens of times over the course of weeks. Sculpted, dried, trimmed, bisque fired, glazed, and then fired again. And with the studio already full to the brim, it just didn’t seem possible.

But then I had a thought: What if I didn’t have to do it alone?

A Community Effort, One Bowl at a Time

So, I put the call out. I opened up our studio and invited anyone who wanted to help – friends, customers, total beginners, people who just liked the idea of doing something good with their hands.

And wow… they showed up.

Over the next few months, more than 300 ceramic bowls were shaped in the Winterwares studio. Some by people who had never touched clay before. Others by familiar faces from past workshops. Together, over tea and quiet conversations, the bowls took shape – and so did something deeper. A kind of stillness. A shared purpose. A reminder that slowing down can sometimes be the most generous thing we do.

And the generosity didn’t stop at the studio door.

When I asked my suppliers if they’d be willing to contribute, they said yes without hesitation.

• The Box Man donated the beautiful boxes the bowls are packaged in.
  
• Mark Print printed the cards you’ll find inside each one.
• And Cindy Young photographed every step, capturing all the quiet, beautiful moments that made this project feel like magic.

Clay as a Quiet Kind of Healing

I didn’t come to pottery through some dreamy, slow-living Pinterest fantasy. I came to it in survival mode. Burnt out, emotionally brittle, and running on caffeine, guilt, and 3 a.m. doom scrolling.

I was so busy being busy – sprinting between daycare drop-offs and client meetings, replying to emails on my phone while reheating my coffee for the third time. I hadn’t finished a single thought or sentence that wasn’t interrupted by a toddler, a deadline, or that gnawing feeling in my chest.

Then I hit a wall. Not a metaphorical one – a very real, crying-on-the-kitchen-floor kind of moment where I realised I couldn’t keep going like this.

So I started unravelling the life I had built. I left my job. I stopped pretending I was okay. 

I signed up for a pottery class. Not because I wanted a hobby – but because I needed to feel something besides pressure.

I didn’t know what I was doing with the clay. My first bowl was a puddle of mess. But my hands were busy, and my brain… finally wasn’t. No notifications, no KPIs, no “just circling back.” Just me, the mud, and a moment of peace I didn’t know I’d been craving.

Like so many people, I’d convinced myself I had no right to feel the way I did. I had healthy kids, a job I was good at, a beautiful home. But still, I felt hollow. And I felt guilty for feeling hollow.

Clay didn’t fix me. But it met me exactly where I was – messy, tired, and searching. It gave me something I hadn’t felt in years: quiet on the inside. I wasn’t proving anything. I wasn’t performing. I was just present. Fully, imperfectly, beautifully present.

That moment became the beginning of Winterwares — a studio that feels more like a pottery day spa than a pottery school. The kind of place where people walk in, take a deep breath, and finally unclench their jaw. We don’t just make ceramics here – we make space. Space to feel, to rest, and to remember what it’s like to enjoy something just because.

Why These Bowls Matter

The bowls are being gifted to platinum-table guests at the 2025 Black Diamond Gala Dinner, a glittering event that raises critical funds for Lifeline WA – an organisation that offers 24/7 crisis support to people in emotional distress.

Their goal this year is to raise $350,000 which will fund the training of 50 new crisis support volunteers. Every $4,000 pledged covers the cost of training one person who will be there to listen when someone needs it most.

That’s the real impact of this project. These little bowls – made slowly, by hand – are part of a much larger effort to remind people they are not alone.

A Bowl, A Pause, A Moment to Reconnect

These bowls are more than a thank you. They’re reminders.

To pause.
To breathe.
To reconnect – with yourself, with others, and with the things that matter.

If you ever feel the need to slow down – or get your hands in some clay – our studio is open. You're always welcome to join us to make something beautiful from clay.