Not having posted much so far, my slow thinking has led me backwards, from choosing a brand name (Wanderlust Ceramics) to editing my story to fit it. Here is my draft:

While studying Engineering in the 60s (chosen instead of Architecture), I went to a summer course at a great art school in Barcelona. Along the corridor in the ceramics workshop white pots went into a kiln and came out the next day covered in brilliant colours.

My life then took some unexpected and wayward turns, but throughout forty years’ intense and interesting work the fascination and curiosity lingered.

After raising four children and a (camel milk) dairy industry in Mauritania (www.tiviski.com) I retired hoping to pursue my unfulfilled artistic possibilities.
I took up piano lessons, got out my neglected paints, but first I indulged in my genetically built-in wanderlust and travelled extensively around the world.

I still knew nothing about pottery. Staying with close friends in Spain I took two weeks’ beginner lessons in a school nearby … and got hopelessly hooked. However, back in Nouakchott there were no potters – even the traditional sort – and no supplies. After a couple of years I had to take it further, so I bought a wheel and kiln and some supplies and had them shipped. Despite the taster course I still had to learn everything, through books, videos, the internet, and a lot of failures. When the clay in the first order ran out I decided to explore local clay. and gradually experimented with three sorts of clay: a sandy one from the desert (under Chinguetti a thousand years’ clay extraction for building has created a network of tunnels); a sticky one from the Senegal river valley in the South, and white lumps of nearly pure kaolinite bought in the market (‘for women who eat it’). Eventually a blend of the three made a workable clay, but I had to give up on my wish for whiteness. Problem: glazes crackled or fell off.

A long long learning curve to understand and make my own glazes, try different clay blends, and raise the firing temperature etc. led to a breakthrough: glazes that worked. All this time I was spending the summer months in the UK and only potting in winter when I was not wandering around the world. After a few summers I was able to attend an open studio in East London for 15 hours a week and play with ‘proper’ clays and glazes.
Eventually the weekly nine hours’ commute pushed me to find a ground floor flat
and set up my own garden studio.

Now my wanderlust has transferred from geography to the vast world of pottery. In one of my two lives as a potter I make my own clay through hard manual labour, and in the other I indulge in beautiful porcelain, white stoneware and readily available raw materials. In both lives I make my glazes, constantly trying out new techniques, new shapes, colours, glazes and textures – the infinite possibilities offered by this fascinating craft involving earth, water and fire (albeit electric).

Having chosen technology over art long ago I am always intrigued by the elusive border between craft and art. My pots are mostly one-offs or small sets, often variations on a theme, and nearly always functional, i.e. useful.

Making no attempt to be trendy or original, I would like my cup or bowl or vase to be the one you reach for, the one you love using.