There’s a big difference between collaboration and being asked to manufacture someone else’s idea.
And if you’re an artist, you feel that difference immediately.
For me, the moment someone tries to take control of the design process — the concept, the aesthetic, the decisions that shape the piece — something shuts down. Completely. The work stops being alive. It stops being mine.
Because I’m not just making objects. I’m an artist.
I work from concept through to material. I test, I adjust, I respond. The clay pushes back, the glaze shifts, the kiln surprises you — and somewhere in that conversation, the final piece emerges. That’s the creative process. That’s where the value is. Take that away, and what’s left? Production. And I’m not a production line.
So what is collaboration?
A real collaboration respects both sides. It’s not: “Here’s exactly what we want — can you make it cheaper?” It’s: “Here’s our idea — how would you interpret this?”. Collaboration leaves room for the artist’s voice. It trusts that the person who understands the material — who has spent years refining their craft — might actually bring something better to the table. Because when you allow an artist to do what they do best, you don’t just get a product. You get something with depth, intention, and originality.
Artist vs Designer (and why both matter)
Let me be clear — this isn’t a dig at designers. Good design is everything. I care deeply about form, function, proportion, usability. My work is designed to a high standard — aesthetically and practically. But there is a difference. A designer can conceptualise and specify. An artist-craftsperson carries that idea all the way through — into material, into process, into physical reality. Not every design is meant to be handmade. And not every handmade object should be stripped back to fit a design spec that ignores the nature of the material. When those lines blur without respect, the work suffers.
When cost replaces creativity
Last year, I submitted a tender to create salt dishes for a company. They had a very specific idea. I responded with what I could offer within that framework — interpreted through my process, my materials, my way of working. I priced it honestly, as a handmade product. I didn’t get the job. Recently, I saw what they went with instead — mass-produced ceramics, likely made offshore. And look — I understand why. Price matters. Margins matter. Times are tight. But we need to be honest about what’s being traded away. Because when decisions are made on price alone, creativity is often the first thing to go.
What happens when we stop supporting artists?
What happens to creative work when it’s constantly undercut? What happens to Australian makers when handmade is seen as “too expensive” rather than “appropriately valued”? What happens to originality when everything starts coming from the same factories?
We lose diversity in objects. We lose risk-taking. We lose skill. We lose the subtlety that comes from a human hand. And eventually, we lose the artists themselves — because they can’t afford to keep going.
I’m not a manufacturer.
I won’t turn myself into a production line for someone else’s design. Not because I’m difficult. Not because I don’t understand business. But because that’s not what I do. I’m more than a pair of hands executing instructions. I’m an artist. A maker. A craftsperson. And the value of my work lies not just in the final object — but in the thinking, the process, and the years it took to get here.
Maybe the real question is this:
Are we commissioning objects? Or are we supporting creative practice? Because those are two very different things. And the future of handmade work depends on how we choose to answer that.
