How Clay Found Me (Again)

A quick pottery class changed everything and reminded me how much I loved clay. What started as a small creative escape quickly grew into one of my happiest places — the kind of place that brings back a feeling I didn’t even realize I had been missing.

This is Olafo (Hagar the Horrible), a little ceramic hero I made when I was about 11 or 12 — proudly saved by my dad, who’s a bit of a hoarder in the best way. I thought clay was just a childhood phase… and here I am, many years later, happily back in the mud

My parents signed me up for ceramic classes when I was a preteen — probably out of love, or maybe because they had officially run out of ideas. I wasn’t exactly the sporty type. I had minimal academic interest and maximum clown energy.

The teacher I remember most was a friend of my parents from their younger years — a warm soul with endless patience and a studio that smelled like heaven and glaze. I’d spend hours there making little cartoon figures, trying to convince clay to behave (sometimes successfully), and discovering that the messier my hands got, the happier I was. I don’t remember every detail from that time, but I remember the feeling: pure joy, and an endless desire to make tiny things.

High school pottery came next — where my artistic focus took a backseat to my comedic career. Our teacher did not find our “creative chaos” nearly as charming as we did, but we laughed plenty anyway. Still, something about clay stayed with me. I loved the texture, the freedom, the transformation from simple mud into something magical.

Then adulthood arrived. I graduated, went to university, became a photographer and graphic designer, built a life, worked nonstop, moved to the U.S., raised a family… and clay? It completely disappeared from the conversation.

Fast-forward many years later — during a yoga and meditation retreat, I wandered into a small pottery class almost by accident. The moment my hands touched the clay, something clicked. It wasn’t an accident at all; it was a reconnection. The same joy, the same focus, the same sense of calm I had as a kid came rushing back.

After that, I found a local studio and signed up for classes, and suddenly I rediscovered a happiness I didn’t even know I was missing. It’s been over three years now, and the studio has become one of my happiest places. I lose myself shaping clay, creating little pieces, and waiting for that magical moment when the kiln opens and everything finally comes to life.

I’ve cycled through a lot of obsessions over these three years. I started with pots for plants — because gardening was also living rent-free in my brain — so I made planters with little faces, hanging pots, and all sorts of clay creatures to hold my plants. Then came my first boob mug. It caused a tiny wave of discomfort among the more mature ladies in the studio, but everyone else loved them, and all my girlfriends wanted one. I made boobs in every shape, size, and glaze imaginable… I’m pretty sure I’ll circle back to my boob era at some point.

My newest obsession is making Minis — tiny houses, trees, birds, lakes, and entire miniature worlds. I’ve been experimenting with colorful melted glass that turns into frozen-lake textures, adding this glossy, dreamy surprise to each piece. And when I add tiny LED lights inside the hollow houses or trees? Pure magic. These little villages make me ridiculously happy. After countless tests (and several adorable failures), I finally reached a point where I felt proud enough to share my work with others — and I haven’t stopped since.

These little villages have found a small community of people who appreciate the detail and love I put into each one. They’re tiny things that carry a lot of joy. You can find these ceramic Christmas decor on my Etsy shop anpamuca.etsy.com and now also on my own shop at shop.anpamuca.com. Each piece is made with love and more patience than I ever thought I had. I’ll happily pack and ship them anywhere in the U.S.

It turns out creativity is just part of who I am. Whether I’m shaping clay, photographing a sunset, planting something new in the garden, experimenting in the kitchen, or building tiny ceramic worlds, making things brings me joy in every form. Clay happens to be the medium that finds me most often, but all of these little creative moments remind me that this is just how I’m wired — messy hands, curious heart, and all. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.