This is the third entry on my orange tree. The first was peppered with naivety and hope. The second was weighed down by frustration and uncertainty. Since then, I’ve watched my plant slowly flourish and grow before my eyes, restoring some faith in, well, myself. While I know that I’ve had very little to do with its resurgence –– plants are such resilient and intelligent things –– I do feel some small sense of triumph. For starters, I stuck with it. No small feat when the voices in my head were willing me to give up, let someone more seasoned (read: patient) take over, trade it in for a leafier, fruit baring one that’s neither nuisance nor eye sore. It was amazing how quickly it began to show signs of progress with just two or three adjustments to its care. Withered, yellow leaves fell away and tiny, acid green ones sprang through in their place. The texture of once thin and papery leaves turned waxy and robust. The satisfaction of watching this plant recover, bear new leaves and blossoms, has been truly gratifying. It turns out that it didn’t need much. A clean pot. Sun. Rainwater. Fertilizer. And maybe an attitude shift to its carer.

I am often drawn to pottery where I recognize something of my own work. Rather like the people I’m drawn to, I’m looking for something familiar. It’s validating and reassuring. A pot is a pot is a pot. Much like a person is a person is a person. Same, but different. Glory Day Loflin’s work is monochromatic, simple, and ostensibly classic if not for the wacky handles and whimsical surface decoration. Through the process of creative osmosis, fringe and polka dots are definitely in my future.

There is something thrillingly simple about working with paper. For a few months now, I’ve been painting flowers, fish and fruit on heavy cardstock and cutting them out like a child would, jagged corners and loose, shredded edges. The paintings are loose and messy, with layer upon layer of colour. They are quick, irreverent and playful, and the perfect antidote to years of working with clay. With paper, I can make a vase in five minutes; ridiculously oversized handles, an explosion of colourful pattern, flowers bursting through the top. The faster I work, the better they come out. This is not the case with clay. Antidote, but also companion. I like to use paper flowers as props for my clay pieces. I like the way a paper bottle looks standing next to a ceramic one, the interplay between ephemeral and permanent, monochrome and multicolour, functional and ornamental. A whole bunch of them are hanging in the window of the wonderful Good Egg right now. If you’re in the market buying fish or a baguette, mosey over and take a look.