Your occupation, job title, artistic discipline (or very brief description of what you do):

I am a potter. I work with local uku, shaping it into vessels, pūoro uku or whatever I feel drawn to make.

What cities/towns have you lived in (or spent more than a few months in) beginning with the place of your birth?

I’ve lived in many places over the years – almost one for every year of my life. Here are a few that have had a profound impact on me and my creativity: Manurewa (born and bred), Whakaoriori (Masterton), Taupō, Te Awa Kairangi ki Tai (Lower Hutt), Te Whanganui-a-Tara (Wellington), London, Bacup in England, Bellaria in Italy, Fairbanks in Alaska, Paihia, Mission Bay, Pāpāmoa, and Tauranga, where I currently live (and love).

But the place that grounds me – my tūrangawaewae – is Ōkahukura in the King Country.

What are the earliest stories you remember hearing? The ones that told you about the world? 

There was one special story, not told to us in person but eagerly listened for every Sunday morning on the radio, in the days before television. Sparky the Talking Train. We lived in Manurewa with the railway line running just behind our house, and my siblings and I watched the trains go by and waved to the drivers. Of all the stories, Sparky was the favourite, because it made us feel like we kids could be the heroes of our own stories – we could do good in the world and maybe one day even save people.  I credit (or blame) Sparky for my saviour complex.

What’s your favourite Bay of Plenty landscape, park, building, location, suburb, or side street? Why?

I’ve always loved Pāpāmoa Beach (who doesn’t), but I’m also a sucker for thoughtful design that connects people, buildings and stories in an urban landscape. So, controversial as it may be, I’ve come to love TCC’s downtown Tauranga redevelopment, especially as the city slowly turns to face the harbour once again.

What’s an average day in your life at present?  

I know this is going to sound like a lot of waffle, but this is honestly what my days are like. An average day begins slowly, usually with coffee and then perhaps going to my pottery studio at the Pot House, part of the Incubator Creative Hub at the Historic Village. Some days I make, some days I simply think about making or chat with the people who come by. My days are quieter and more considered at the moment as I learn to work within my limits. I focus on process rather than pace and, in that, clay is a patient teacher. Through slow making, embracing failure, and allowing things to unfold in their own time, I’m becoming more aware of rhythm, of when energy is there and when it isn’t, and how the clay can feel heavy or responsive on any given day. The learning now is to move with that, and to work in a way that lets me create with uku today and to come back again the next day.

What’s the one object from your home you would save from a fire?

My husband Jim. I probably shouldn’t call him an object, but he spends long hours at his computer in deep focus, often as still as an inanimate object and about as aware of his surroundings. He would definitely need saving in a fire.

What music was present and still memorable from your youth/adolescence? 

The Dunedin Sound and old school reggae.

For you as a creative person, who are three influential artists or thinkers?  

For me, the most influential voice in my creativity is the radical thinker Yeshua, the Jewish messiah (Jesus of the English Bible). My artist heroes are Baye Riddell and Fred Graham who I have admired from afar for more than 40 years.

If you went away from the Bay of Plenty for a long time and then came back, what are the first three things you would do or visit?  

See my Mum, then go karakia at Pāpāmoa Beach up by the campground, looking out over the whole coast. Breathe the salty air and put my feet in the sand and sea, then go see the rest of the whānau.

Looking back at your teen-age self: what one sentence describes that person?

Nerdy but naughty.

What are you planning for 2026 that nobody knows about yet? 

Painting large, abstracted landscapes in earth pigments – with the paper, paint, and brushes all made by me from locally harvested raw materials.

In one sentence, can you define creativity?

Umm…creativity is the act of making innovative connections between ideas, feelings, and materials.

Where would you like to live, but have yet to?

In a flash-as papakāinga retirement village (definitely not your standard kaumātua flats) – truly, not even joking. My parents live in a beautiful retirement resort with heated swimming pools, a library, theatre, art studios, and are surrounded by friends. I want that but back home on our whenua.

What word of advice would you offer an aspiring creative person? 

Depends on who they are and what they want from their creativity. If they’re like me, not particularly disciplined and enjoy the learning more than the finished product, I’d recommend hanging out with artists who are highly motivated to produce. When they produce, you make something, anything, alongside them. It will keep you creating rather than getting stuck in your head.

What is your dream of happiness?

Living simply within our means, in a loving community of Atua, whānau and friends – and sewing back into our community, at least as much as we receive.

Has there been a particular moment where you surprised yourself by using creativity to solve, express, or connect?

My dad passed away last year. I’ve used my creativity with clay to make pieces that are both art and a source of comfort for our whānau in our grief. Many of these have been gifted to whānau members, and I’m currently making ceramic versions of my father’s manaia from a mould, in different colours for different members of the whānau.

More recently, I began making ceramic flowers and placing them around his grave as a way of working through my grief. That has grown into something shared, with my mum, my son, my moko and wider whānau all making their own. What began as something personal has become a way of bringing us together, creating a ceramic garden to honour Dad.

Working with clay has proven to be a surprisingly fitting way to remember him. It allows us to shape our grief into something that connects us to him, to each other, and to the whenua from which we are all shaped and to which we all return.

Anything else you’d like to tell us about yourself/your organisation?

I’m a recovering academic. I have too many words. If you made it to the end, thanks. I think that qualifies us as friends now, so haere mai ki taku whare toi, e hoa.