Interview: a ceramicist on finding her voice
For ceramicist Maya Chen, finding a personal style did not begin with a signature glaze or a recognisable shape. It began with paying attention: to the feel of wet clay, the rhythm of repetition, and the quiet stories carried by everyday objects.
Based in Naarm/Melbourne, Maya works between a shared studio, weekend makers markets and a growing online shop. Her practice combines wheel-thrown forms with hand-built details, creating vessels that feel useful, tactile and slightly unexpected.
Her path reflects a wider reality for Australian makers. Creative work often develops alongside another job, limited studio access and the practical demands of selling locally. Maya’s story shows how experimentation, community and careful business decisions can help an emerging artist build a sustainable creative practice.
| Stage of practice | What Maya focused on |
|---|---|
| Learning | Technique, patience and accepting imperfect results |
| Experimenting | Surface, proportion and forms with emotional meaning |
| Selling | Pricing, packaging and understanding local customers |
| Growing | Consistent collections, wholesale relationships and brand clarity |
Listening to the material
Maya first encountered clay during an evening class after work. “I expected a relaxing hobby,” she says. “Instead, I found something that required complete concentration. If I rushed, the clay showed me immediately.”
Early pieces were technically uneven, but the process gave her a new visual language. She began recording the shapes she noticed around her: seed pods, old kitchenware, shells from the Mornington Peninsula and weathered architectural details in inner-city Melbourne.
That observation became central to her creative identity. Rather than chasing a polished trend on Instagram, she started asking which forms felt honest in her hands. The answer was often found in soft asymmetry, visible fingerprints and muted colours inspired by Australian landscapes.
Moving beyond the perfect vessel
For Maya, developing a ceramic voice meant making room for mistakes. A cup could lean slightly, a rim could remain uneven, and a glaze could break differently across each piece. These variations became evidence of the hand behind the work rather than flaws to hide.
She also stopped treating function and expression as opposites. A serving bowl could hold fruit while carrying a sculptural quality; a small vase could be practical and still create a moment of pause. This balance has helped her work appeal to customers who want meaningful objects without losing everyday usefulness.
Australian buyers often respond strongly to that connection between craft and daily life. At local design markets, Maya notices people picking up a piece, feeling its weight and imagining it on a dining table. The sale usually begins through touch and conversation rather than a product description alone.
Finding a language in colour and texture
Maya’s earliest glazes were influenced by popular neutral palettes, but she gradually built a more distinctive surface vocabulary. Iron-rich browns, chalky whites and deep eucalyptus greens now sit beside occasional flashes of cobalt and marigold.
She tests every glaze in small batches because firing conditions can shift between studios. “The kiln has the final word,” she says. “You can make a careful plan, then open the door and discover something completely different.”
Texture has become just as important as colour. Carved lines, pressed fabric and lightly burnished sections invite the viewer to look closely. Her pieces do not announce themselves across a room; they reward attention over time, which suits the slower pace she wants her practice to encourage.
Building a practice around real life
A professional ceramics career requires more than making attractive objects. Maya tracks clay, glaze, firing, packaging, market fees and studio rent before setting a price. She also allows for the time spent photographing, listing, wrapping and delivering each order.
This financial discipline matters in the Australian market, where materials and freight can be expensive and many independent makers sell in relatively small quantities. Maya keeps a clear distinction between one-off studio experiments and repeatable collections, making it easier to plan stock and explain pricing to customers.
She has also learned to prepare for the rhythm of local retail. A busy pre-Christmas market season can be followed by quieter months, while wholesale orders may require consistent forms in larger quantities. Maintaining an ABN, understanding GST thresholds and keeping reliable records have become part of her creative infrastructure.
Learning through other makers
Maya credits shared studios and peer conversations with helping her move from private experimentation into public practice. Other makers offered advice about kiln maintenance, market displays and the realities of accepting custom commissions.
She also values creative spaces that connect different disciplines. A textile artist’s approach to repetition, for example, helped her think differently about surface pattern. Exploring a feminist embroidery workshop can open a similar pathway for makers interested in symbolism, hand-stitching and the relationship between material and message.
For Maya, these exchanges do not dilute a ceramic practice. They expand it. A conversation with an embroiderer, jeweller or illustrator can reveal new ways to consider rhythm, scale, colour and storytelling while leaving the final interpretation in the maker’s hands.
Letting the work become recognisable
When asked how she knows a piece belongs to her, Maya does not mention a logo or a specific collection name. She describes a feeling of alignment: the form is useful, the surface has enough restraint, and the object carries a trace of the process that made it.
That sense of recognition developed slowly. It came from making enough work to identify recurring decisions, then refining those decisions without forcing them into a formula. Her voice is present in the balance between softness and structure, and in the permission she gives each object to remain slightly individual.
Her advice to emerging ceramicists is practical: make consistently, photograph the failures, price with care and spend time with people who understand the value of handmade work. A creative voice is rarely discovered in a single breakthrough. It is shaped through repetition, reflection and the courage to keep making.
For artists ready to develop their own visual language or turn a promising body of work into a viable offering, Smart and Becker Creative provides a place to learn, connect and build with intention. Explore its workshops, exhibitions and creative support programs to give your next idea the time and structure it deserves.