The way I make pots is very open-ended so I can change and visualise and think through them as I go, reacting to what there is, with an idea rather than a plan beforehand. I wouldn't have known as a student in the sixties at the Central School of Art in London that hand building was going to be my thing; we learnt everything, and I enjoyed pretty much all of it except the glaze chemistry day which was taught by a man who hardly used glaze himself and taught us as if he were undergoing some sort of penance, which he probably was. Things were not much better at the Royal College of Art in the early seventies, where glaze chemistry was taught by an elderly exile from a Stoke factory who was more interested in chihuahuas, which he bred. He liked you to learn by not giving you all the information the first time round, and looking superior when it went wrong. I probably wish I'd known that glaze could be a delight, and hopefully I am now going to find out.
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机译：我制作锅的方法是开放式的，因此我可以随时更改，可视化并仔细思考它们，对存在的内容做出反应，而不是事先计划。在伦敦中央艺术学院（Central School of Art）的60年代，我不会以学生身份认识手工建造。我们学到了所有东西，除了釉化学日，我几乎很享受这一切，这是由一个几乎不使用釉的人教给我们的，就像他正在经历某种pen悔一样，他教我们。七十年代初期，皇家艺术学院的情况并没有好得多。在那里，一位斯托克工厂的年长流放者讲授了釉化学，他对奇瓦瓦狗更感兴趣，他养育了吉娃娃。他喜欢您通过在第一时间不向您提供所有信息来学习，并在出现问题时表现出众。我可能希望我知道釉会是一件令人高兴的事，希望我现在能找到答案。
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