LF: Hi Robyn, could you start by telling us how you came to be a ceramicist?
RD: My dear friend Kathryn introduced me to clay a few years ago. It was just for fun, making little pinch pots while drinking wine and catching up. I got kinda obsessed with it when I saw the possibilities and started making things at home at the kitchen table. I learned from each thing I made by trial and error - which is the slowest way to learn - but I was in no rush. At the start everything I made was tiny. I couldn’t make anything functional or human sized it seemed, but I enjoyed the process of using my hands as tools. I was very curious about this new material. The more I played the more ideas I had to make, so I just kept going. To this day I can’t really make the same thing twice, but I’m getting better at translating my ideas into forms.
LF: What does Ennui mean? Does it have any special meaning apart from your studio practice?
RD: Ennui was just a word I stumbled across accidentally. I liked the way it looked and sounded, and it stuck in my head for days. I looked up what it meant and it was fitting to what I was experiencing at the time, a kind of emptiness and melancholy for lack of a creative outlet. It was during covid times where I think lots of people were feeling similarly. Playing with clay and making forms from my mind bought me out of that state and kinda opened a new world for me. Ennui is a nice paradox.
LF: You speak about Studio Ennui being created to ‘bridge a gap’. What gaps are you trying to connect?
RD: I’m mostly speaking to the gap between imagination, intellect, desire and its physical manifestation through form. For example I’ve collected so many images over the years through photography; landscapes, architecture, colours, textures etc. and it’s like a way to translate all this collaged imagery into something new, tangible, and 3D.
LF: Do you still connect with photography? Or is ceramics a shift to ‘offline tactility’ that you mention?
RD: If you asked me a year ago I would have had a different answer. But right now, I’m writing this on a road trip through Crete with a camera at my ribs and loving it. Photography will always be a part of me and my experience in the world, as corny as that sounds. These days it only really comes to the surface when I’m travelling and seeing new landscapes and light. I feel wired and super present when taking pics. It’s the same feeling I get from being in the zone in the studio making something intuitive out of clay. It’s kind of a letting go and allowing the moment to unfold in front of you, too random and spontaneous to plan. Both of these practices are innately offline, yet super online if you want them to be… the eternal conflict.
LF: You speak of your pieces being utilitarian or serving ritual. What role does ritual and functionality play in your life
RD: I think ritual and functionality are intertwined. They can be subtle or deliberate but they’re in every part of our lives. Lighting candles for instance is an ancient ritual with purpose. Same goes for drinking coffee, gathering to eat, storing medicines and precious jewels, arranging florals etc. Ceramic objects are ancient in themselves, and their functionality in our lives hasn’t changed much in centuries if you think about it. People need objects, and objects should be beautiful!
LF: Why Nerikomi? Why Hand-building? What draws you to these techniques?
RD: Hand building is so accessible. It has next to no restrictions - you need the most basic instruments and elements to make it happen and have fun. It’s a bit like 35mm photography in that way. I was attracted to mixing and marbling clays early on, it was all experiments and being excited about different colour combos. I eventually discovered the art of Nerikomi and it’s history and I was so blown away by the possibilities. I love that the visual effect is built into the structure - it’s entirely made up of what you see, not just a pretty surface layer added at the end. It’s architectural and decorative at the same time.