Why I Started Fire and Clay

I Didn't Come to Jingdezhen to Start a Ceramics Brand.
I didn't come to Jingdezhen with a business plan.
I didn't come here knowing that one day I would build a website, film kilns, work with ceramic artists, and introduce their work to people around the world.
I came here because I needed a living.
And, eventually, I stayed because of someone.
Somewhere along the way, Jingdezhen became more than just a place where I happened to be living.
It became a place I wanted to understand.


The More I Looked, the More I Saw.
At first, ceramics were simply part of the city around me.
Workshops.
Kilns.
Clay.
Paint.
Fire.
People working quietly behind doors.
But the longer I stayed, the more curious I became.
I started visiting different workshops and kiln sites.
I began paying attention to how things were made, how artists worked, how pieces changed in the kiln, and how much uncertainty could exist between a finished object and the moment it came out of the fire.
That was when ceramics started to become something different to me.
Not just an object.
A process.


Then I Started Looking Beyond China.
There was another reason I became interested in bringing Jingdezhen ceramics
overseas.
I had already spent a lot of time online, looking at things being made and collected in different parts of the world.
I began to notice something.
China already has an enormous ceramics market.
There are countless factories, workshops, sellers, designers, and platforms offering ceramics at almost every price point.
But at the same time, many of the people I encountered online outside China had very little idea of what was actually being made in Jingdezhen today.
There were contemporary studios.
Independent makers.
Traditional techniques being reinterpreted in new ways.
Wood-fired work.
Hand-painted pieces.
One-of-a-kind objects.
Beautiful things that were already here.
They simply weren't being seen by enough people outside China.
And that stayed with me.

I Wanted People to See Where Things
Come From.
That is probably why I started filming.
I wanted to show the kiln before showing the finished piece.
The people before the product.
The process before the price.
The waiting.
The fire.
The uncertainty.
The moments when you still don't know exactly what the kiln is going to give you.
A finished photograph can tell you what an object looks like.
But sometimes, it cannot tell you why the object matters.
For me, that story begins before the object is finished.


Fire Changes Everything.
Wood firing has always fascinated me for this reason.
You can prepare a piece carefully.
You can paint it.
You can place it inside the kiln.
And then you have to let go.
Fire takes over.
The result may be close to what you imagined.
Or it may be completely different.
Sometimes that uncertainty is exactly what makes a piece interesting.
It is one of the things I want people outside China to see when they look at Jingdezhen.
Not just porcelain.
Not just decoration.
But the relationship between material, people, fire, time, and chance.

I Am Not a Ceramic Artist.！
I should probably make that clear.
I am not the person shaping every vessel by hand.
I am not a master potter.
My role is different.
I observe.
I document.
I ask questions.
I learn.
And, eventually, I select.
Living in Jingdezhen gives me the
opportunity to get closer to the places where these objects are made and to the people who make them.
The more I learn, the more I understand that selecting a piece is not simply about whether it looks beautiful in a photograph.
I want to know something about where it came from.
Who made it.
How it was made.
What makes it different.
And whether I genuinely believe it deserves to be seen by someone thousands of miles away.

Why I Don't Want a Store Full of Thousands of Products.
I could build a much larger catalogue.
There are plenty of ceramics in Jingdezhen.
But that has never been the point of Fire and Clay.
I don't want to simply collect product photographs and put prices underneath them.
I would rather show fewer things and understand them better.
Some pieces may be made in small quantities.
Some may be one of a kind.
Some may carry marks from the kiln that could never be repeated.
And some may simply be objects that l personally believe deserve attention.
I don't expect every piece to be for everyone.
In fact, I think that is part of the point.

From Jingdezhen, With Fire and Time.
Sometimes, after spending hours around a kiln, filming and waiting for the door to open, there isn't a dramatic ending.
You simply pack your things.
Get back into the car.
And drive home.
The kiln keeps burning behind you.
Tomorrow, someone will return to the workshop.
Another piece will be made.
Another kiln will be fired.
And the work continues.
I think that is what I like most about Jingdezhen.
The story never really ends with one finished object.
There is always another kiln.
Another maker.
Another piece of clay.
Another fire.
And another story waiting to be seen.

What Fire and Clay Is
Fire and Clay began with a simple idea:
Some of the things being made in Jingdezhen deserve to be seen by more people.
I want to discover them, document where they come from, understand the people and processes behind them, and introduce selected works to people beyond China.
Not everything.
Not thousands of pieces.
Just the things I believe are worth seeing.
Before I ask someone to buy an object, l want them to see where it came from.
The hands before the object.
The kiln before the finished piece.
The uncertainty before the result.
That is what Fire and Clay means to me.
From Jingdezhen, with fire and time.