Interview 

For the exhibition you are presenting a series of tea caddies. How do you approach their design, and what do you hope visitors will feel when they encounter them?

The tea caddy is the very first object you reach for when preparing tea. It sets the tone of the entire ritual, before choosing a teapot, cups, or any other piece. For me, a caddy is a very unique object—almost like a chawan, it has its own character and presence. When you open it, the first experience is the smell. That moment already awakens the senses.
I prefer to create caddies with larger openings, unlike some traditional ones that are too narrow to see or scoop the leaves easily. A wider mouth allows you to see the tea, to smell it fully, and to begin the ritual with all the senses open.

Your pieces often play with texture, form, and tactile presence. Can you walk us through your process from clay to finished work?

I always start with an idea of how clay and glaze will interact. For example, Belgian red clay gives a completely different result depending on whether I apply a white glaze, a black glaze, or a gray glaze. The texture of the clay is also important—smooth clays are gentle on the hands, while rougher clays with chamotte are more challenging to work but create pieces with strength and depth.

The process begins on the wheel, followed by refining details like lids or spouts once the clay has dried slightly. A perfect fit is essential, especially for a caddy, since it needs to protect the tea from oxidation. After drying, the piece goes through two firings: first at about 950°C, then again at 1250°C after glazing. The glaze is always the most challenging step—it can surprise you, for better or worse. Even after twenty years, opening the kiln is never predictable.

You mentioned using different clays depending on the tea. Can you explain how clay influences your perception of tea?

I associate certain clays with different teas. Dark, rough clays feel more suited for black or pu’er teas, while smooth white or yellow clays resonate with delicate whites or fresh green teas. It’s less about directly altering the taste and more about the perception and feeling. The texture, color, and weight of the caddy already prepare you for the kind of tea it will hold. Some potters also experiment with aging teas inside caddies, but for me the visual and tactile experience is what matters most.

Your work seems influenced by both tradition and architecture. Which traditions or inspirations shape your practice most?

I studied architecture before becoming a potter, so proportions, space, and material have always been in my DNA. I’m inspired by Japanese and Korean traditions, but I always work with European clays—Belgian red and yellow clays, German white, Spanish black. I can’t simply copy Chinese or Japanese methods because the clay behaves differently. Instead, I adapt their philosophy: the Japanese discipline, patience, and relaxed way of working with clay, combined with my own environment and materials.
In the end, I seek balance—between precision and imperfection, control and organic flow. That’s where the beauty lies.

Beyond your ceramics, you also run workshops and tea tastings. How does this educational work influence your art?

Teaching and tasting are never one-directional. When I guide students, I also learn from them. Their curiosity and experiments can open my eyes to new possibilities. Working alone in the studio can sometimes be isolating, so this exchange with students and the community is refreshing. At tea festivals, too, the feedback from people using my pots is invaluable—it reminds me that these pieces live with others, in daily rituals, far beyond my studio.