Here is how Parisian potter, Marion Graux describes the many steps to making a bowl. Draw a bowl. Choose a clay. Prepare the clay. Weigh the clay. Turn the bowl. Allow to dry. Spin the bowl. Sign. Allow to dry. Cook the cookie at 980 degrees. Turn off after about 48 hours. Choose a glaze. Prepare the glaze bath. Glaze. Allow to dry. Clean the glaze drips. Cook at 1240° C. Turn off after about 48 hours. Her bowls –– earth pink, amber, blue and grey –– are beautiful. As are her ultra fine plates. They’re expensive, roughly $70 per plate, but that’s 18 steps. 18 steps over ten days or so. And chances are, for every ten plates she makes, there are at least two casualties. The ones that warp or crack. Potters are a persistent lot. We have to be. I used to watch my studio mate, Katherine return to her wheel day after day, one failed bowl after another, a smile on her face. She sent me a perfect Cappuccino cup today. Persistence pays off. I made two large platters last month, and both cracked in the second firing. I can’t say that I’m not deflated. But we have no choice but to begin again. To roll out a fresh slab. Smooth out the bubbles. Wrap it well. Be patient. Cross our fingers. And our toes. This one is a winner.

Had my Mum not mentioned that she was dying eggs today, I wouldn’t have realized that it’s Greek Easter this weekend. Some of my most pronounced childhood memories are from Greek Easter; fasting on lentils and french fries, a sea of candles flickering at the water’s edge, lamb on the spit, incense, flames, tsoureki smothered in butter and honey. Here, Nikos Economopoulos photographs a man carrying a large icon of the Virgin Mary while a dog looks down from a white-washed roof.

Sean Sullivan is one of those artists whose work defies classification. He is an illustrator, sculptor, book designer, printmaker, painter and sound poet. Regardless of his medium –– oil paint, graphite, salt sough –– music is central to his process. And as with anything hand-made, there is a surrendering to his materials, and to the unpredictability of the human hand. What strikes me most about his work is the sheer variety, so many styles, each one as confident as the next. He’s like five artists in one. Sullivan’s mantra Parade, Pimlico, Pearl weaves its way through his work. “This phrase or poem was originally “parade.pentimento.pimlico.pearl,” and it served as a secular prayer of sorts…” he says. “Parade: a reminder to enjoy, celebrate, and commemorate; pentimento: a reminder to value history, my own and our collective history; pimlico: a nod to luck, good and bad, and named after the racetrack; pearl: a nod to the creative process—to remember that beautiful things can be made from things found around you, are made over a long period of time, and are often a reaction to adversity.”

While browsing through garden designer, Jinny Blom‘s website today, I came across a most unusual, and quite lovely page of hands. Instead of traditional staff portraits, like most companies provide, Blom has invited her team to share images of their hands. Designer, Laura Diggens holds on to a climbing vine, while landscape architect, Daniel Ridgway places a single hand on a giant palm. Blom’s is my favourite; an antique solitaire shimmers against the veins of a huge leaf.

Yesterday was a beautiful day. “The stubborn April snowfall, hanging softly from confused, but defiant, Canadian branches,” observed writer, Shinan Govani. Yesterday, the snow had more than a branch to land on; tiny buds and early foliage, the plump petals of a Magnolia. Tulips resembled egg cups filled with meringue. Brave little daffodils were dusted with sugar. Something magical happens when seasons meet, like a gust of hot October wind lifting Autumn leaves off the pavement. It’s surreal and unexpected. A gift. And a reminder that Nature always has the last word.