Instagram | J G Kirkpatrick

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Over the years, my practice has evolved. I used to curate collections for an online shop, but that felt restrictive—to me and to those looking for something specific. People might see my work online and assume that’s all I offer.

I work best with structured projects. I like to know what I’m making, for how long, and for how much. An online shop doesn’t give me that. Even with set deadlines and quantities, there’s no guarantee the work will reach the right people. And as a small business, competing with retailers who have entire teams for PR and advertising is unrealistic. So I focus on what works—collaborative commissions, wholesale partnerships, and select private orders when my schedule allows.

Working with chefs and restaurants is where I find the most satisfaction. It starts with a conversation—ideas, sketches, inspirations. I develop samples, refining a single idea through multiple iterations, always keeping functionality in mind. A plate isn’t just something to look at—it’s handled, stacked, washed, plated on. Every detail matters.

What I bring to that conversation is an archive. Built from past restaurant projects, experiments, and refined shapes I’ve developed over time. Some are finalised commissions, others are more abstract—glaze tests, clay explorations, forms that never made it into production but still hold something worth considering. They serve as a starting point, especially for those still shaping their vision.

Once the samples are complete, we regroup. We assess everything in context. Does it fit the restaurant’s aesthetic? How does the diner interact with it? Is it functional? These details shape the final piece before production begins.

The same approach applies to working with shops—understanding what they offer and what their customers need. That allows me to create something distinct, in my style, without duplicating what’s already there.

I always highlight where and when my work is available—whether in shops, galleries, or special releases.

Over the years, my practice has evolved. I used to curate collections for an online shop, but that felt restrictive—to me and to those looking for something specific. People might see my work online and assume that’s all I offer.

I work best with structured projects. I like to know what I’m making, for how long, and for how much. An online shop doesn’t give me that. Even with set deadlines and quantities, there’s no guarantee the work will reach the right people. And as a small business, competing with retailers who have entire teams for PR and advertising is unrealistic. So I focus on what works—collaborative commissions, wholesale partnerships, and select private orders when my schedule allows.

Working with chefs and restaurants is where I find the most satisfaction. It starts with a conversation—ideas, sketches, inspirations. I develop samples, refining a single idea through multiple iterations, always keeping functionality in mind. A plate isn’t just something to look at—it’s handled, stacked, washed, plated on. Every detail matters.

What I bring to that conversation is an archive. Built from past restaurant projects, experiments, and refined shapes I’ve developed over time. Some are finalised commissions, others are more abstract—glaze tests, clay explorations, forms that never made it into production but still hold something worth considering. They serve as a starting point, especially for those still shaping their vision.

Once the samples are complete, we regroup. We assess everything in context. Does it fit the restaurant’s aesthetic? How does the diner interact with it? Is it functional? These details shape the final piece before production begins.

The same approach applies to working with shops—understanding what they offer and what their customers need. That allows me to create something distinct, in my style, without duplicating what’s already there.

I always highlight where and when my work is available—whether in shops, galleries, or special releases.

A selection of pieces created during the development process for @chilstonparkhotel.

Clay taken from the edge of their lake, processed and shaped into tableware for a five-course tasting menu. Rooted in sustainability—earth to plate, no wasted steps.

A selection of pieces created during the development process for @chilstonparkhotel.

Clay taken from the edge of their lake, processed and shaped into tableware for a five-course tasting menu. Rooted in sustainability—earth to plate, no wasted steps.

For @counter_71 . White stoneware. The rim, textured like a shell, adding a touch of quiet movement to the form.

For @counter_71 . White stoneware. The rim, textured like a shell, adding a touch of quiet movement to the form.

Organising/avoiding the tax return. The studio’s full to the brim with pieces in various stages. The kiln is clicking away, and I’m trying to find order in the chaos. Excited to share what I’ve been working on.

Organising/avoiding the tax return. The studio’s full to the brim with pieces in various stages. The kiln is clicking away, and I’m trying to find order in the chaos. Excited to share what I’ve been working on.

Side plates in red stoneware. Unglazed, raw, and tactile. Corners softened for ease of use. Development work for a new project. I’m into it.

Side plates in red stoneware. Unglazed, raw, and tactile. Corners softened for ease of use. Development work for a new project. I’m into it.

2024. As the year draws to a close, I’ve taken some time to reflect—not just on what’s been achieved, but on the challenges faced along the way. This process of dissecting the highs and lows feels necessary, a way to chart progress and lay the groundwork for what’s to come. 2024 wasn’t an easy year for many, and as an artist, when the work isn’t guaranteed, it’s important to pause and remind yourself of the steps taken. Growth isn’t just measured in finances; it’s about ability, resilience, and building something that lasts.

For @counter_71 I threw and carved plates, dishes and plinths that felt more like sculpture than tableware—pieces that added depth to their story. @boys.hall called me back several times to restock mugs—simple, utilitarian forms that somehow never lose their appeal. @kitchenprovisions bowls and Tenmoku dishes found their way to tables where food and conversation collide. And my first order with @pophamshome sold out—a gratifying moment in the chaos of the year.

In between these larger projects, I worked on a series of bespoke private commissions—pieces crafted to meet the specific needs and visions of individuals. Each one was a reminder of the deeply personal connection people form with handmade objects, and how ceramic objects can quietly anchor a space.

The latter part of 2024 brought new faces and fresh opportunities. Conversations with acclaimed chefs about Spring menus opened doors, and a commission to craft tableware from wild clay—pulled directly from the restaurant’s grounds—introduced a raw, exciting dimension to my practice which I am eager to explore further in 2025.

With restaurants and shops closing down every other week, I honestly thought this year might be about survival alone. And while there were moments of panic, stress, and existential doubt, I can look back and feel proud of the progress made. I’m deeply grateful to my customers, both old and new, for their continued support.

Here’s to what comes next. Here’s to 2025.

2024. As the year draws to a close, I’ve taken some time to reflect—not just on what’s been achieved, but on the challenges faced along the way. This process of dissecting the highs and lows feels necessary, a way to chart progress and lay the groundwork for what’s to come. 2024 wasn’t an easy year for many, and as an artist, when the work isn’t guaranteed, it’s important to pause and remind yourself of the steps taken. Growth isn’t just measured in finances; it’s about ability, resilience, and building something that lasts.

For @counter_71 I threw and carved plates, dishes and plinths that felt more like sculpture than tableware—pieces that added depth to their story. @boys.hall called me back several times to restock mugs—simple, utilitarian forms that somehow never lose their appeal. @kitchenprovisions bowls and Tenmoku dishes found their way to tables where food and conversation collide. And my first order with @pophamshome sold out—a gratifying moment in the chaos of the year.

In between these larger projects, I worked on a series of bespoke private commissions—pieces crafted to meet the specific needs and visions of individuals. Each one was a reminder of the deeply personal connection people form with handmade objects, and how ceramic objects can quietly anchor a space.

The latter part of 2024 brought new faces and fresh opportunities. Conversations with acclaimed chefs about Spring menus opened doors, and a commission to craft tableware from wild clay—pulled directly from the restaurant’s grounds—introduced a raw, exciting dimension to my practice which I am eager to explore further in 2025.

With restaurants and shops closing down every other week, I honestly thought this year might be about survival alone. And while there were moments of panic, stress, and existential doubt, I can look back and feel proud of the progress made. I’m deeply grateful to my customers, both old and new, for their continued support.

Here’s to what comes next. Here’s to 2025.

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@j_g_kirkpatrick

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