What Kind of Potter I’m Trying to Become

There are a lot of ways to be a potter.

Some chase perfection. Some chase volume. Some chase novelty — new forms, new surfaces, new statements every season.

For a while, I wasn’t sure which direction I was heading.

When you’re early in clay, everything feels possible. You try different glazes. Different firing temperatures. Different styles. You scroll through work online and wonder what your version should look like.

It’s easy to get pulled in ten directions at once.

I’ve felt that.

There were moments when I thought maybe I should lean into brighter surfaces. Maybe make more decorative work. Maybe simplify the process and stay where it’s easier.

But the longer I’ve stayed with clay here in Logan, the more something has clarified.

I don’t want to be the kind of potter who chases trends.

I don’t want to make work that looks good for a season and then feels dated.

I want to become the kind of potter whose work feels steady.

That means slower surfaces. Earth tones. Depth instead of shine. Forms that are quiet but intentional. Pieces that feel good in your hands before they impress you visually.

It means building toward a Utah salt kiln not because it’s dramatic, but because it aligns with the kind of surfaces I respect. It means testing wild clay not because it’s romantic, but because it connects the work to this place.

There’s a temptation in ceramics to always be reinventing.

But I’m starting to think the work I admire most isn’t constantly reinvented — it’s refined.

A cup that gets better each year. A glaze that gets deeper, not louder. A kiln that becomes more understood with every firing.

The kind of Logan Utah pottery I want to make isn’t flashy.

It’s grounded.

I want someone to pick up one of my mugs ten years from now and feel like it still makes sense. Like it wasn’t chasing anything. Like it belonged to a steady hand.

That kind of consistency takes time.

It takes saying no to certain directions. It takes committing to high fire even when it’s harder. It takes building infrastructure instead of looking for shortcuts.

I’m not there yet.

But I know what I’m moving toward.

A potter whose work feels rooted. Durable. Honest. Shaped by fire and place more than by trend.

That’s the direction.

And I’m willing to move slowly to get there.

— Adam Corbridge
Trying to make sense of the world and what I should make next.
You can follow the long road at adamcorbridgepottery.com