Emotions and Clay: A Journey into the Heart of Pottery
Within just ten minutes of filming the very first episode of The Great Pottery Throw Down back in 2015, I found myself overcome with emotion. One of the potters, Rekha, was struggling. It seemed she might not finish her pots in time to get them into the drying room and thus, potentially miss out on advancing in the competition. Watching Rekha falter at the very first hurdle was something that resonated deeply with me—and I believe, with many viewers as well. Unlike most people, however, I couldn’t hold back my tears.
I could hear the director in my earpiece excitedly announcing, “Rekha is in trouble, quick, get some cameras on her.” This was our first glimpse of the “jeopardy” that television producers thrive on in a brand-new, uncharted show. Moments later, the director exclaimed, “Oh my God, one of the judges is crying… this is TV gold, quick, cameras!” And that was the beginning of my unexpected reputation for tearing up on national television.
Who would have thought that I—a fairly large man—would become known for crying over clay? It certainly took me by surprise, not only because of my size, which typically aligns with societal expectations of toughness, but also due to how deeply I had connected with the struggles of the potters. I found myself emotionally invested in their journeys and the quest to create something they could be proud of. This emotional connection has only intensified since that inaugural episode. While I fully understand the format of shows like these, the feelings and empathy surrounding pottery are profoundly real.
Interestingly, I have a long-standing relationship with tears. I cry quite often! Recently, I even found myself tearing up over a steel pillar in the chapel we are renovating. After it had been sandblasted and revealed, it was breathtaking. It was in that moment I realized that it’s the creative process itself that often moves me to tears—especially when the creator takes pride in what they’ve made. The satisfaction of bringing forth something beautiful from raw materials is an unparalleled feeling.
Much of my emotional openness can be attributed to my upbringing. My parents never shamed us for expressing feelings; rather, they encouraged emotional honesty. This shaped my perspective significantly. There were times in my life, particularly during my twenties, when I struggled to connect with my emotions. However, as I delved deeper into pottery, I rediscovered the importance of the creative process and the joy of realizing one’s visions. It’s truly a marvelous experience!
My partner, Marj, and I have often explored the impact my crying has had on viewers of The Great Pottery Throw Down. I’ve encountered men on construction sites, particularly scaffolders, who shout, “Oi, you’re that bloke from the telly who cries!” They express admiration for my emotional displays, saying, “I love that show,” and “Good on you, mate! It’s great to see a big man like you showing emotion.” I smile and wave, acknowledging their appreciation.
Marj and I often ponder whether my emotional displays would hold the same impact if I were a smaller, slighter man. We suspect they wouldn’t. Society often conditions us to associate masculinity with toughness, making emotional vulnerability seem weak or pathetic. However, I would argue that embracing and expressing one’s feelings fosters emotional articulation and strengthens connections with others. I am proud of my emotional openness and refuse to see it as a weakness.
My tears during the show are spontaneous and often catch me off guard. Yet, when contestants reveal their struggles and find solace in their art, I know that tears will flow. Surprisingly, my emotional displays seem to have opened the floodgates for men across various walks of life. I have received countless messages from former service members and individuals in traditionally masculine professions, praising me for showing joy and vulnerability on television. My openness has encouraged many to express their feelings more freely, and that fills me with pride.
In my view, demonstrating emotion is not a sign of weakness; rather, it reflects strength and authenticity.
This Week I Have Been
Moving…
We are currently in the process of relocating our home, and my waking hours are consumed with shrink wrap—lots and lots of it. While it may not be the most eco-friendly material, it functions like industrial cling film. I’ve been wrapping endless pallets from my pottery studio to transport to North Wales, treating each pallet I pack as a game to see how much I can fit onto one.
Dressing…
I tend to be a creature of habit when it comes to my daily attire. On a typical day, you’ll find me in work overalls, which serve me well in the studio—both upstairs at the computer and downstairs with clay. This choice simplifies my routine, allowing me to focus more on creating. However, when it comes to going out, I have a fondness for quality clothing. I prefer to buy well-made pieces, but infrequently. When I do, I make sure they are British-made, from shoes to shirts to jackets.
For Christmas one year, Marj gifted me a pair of Grenson boots, which I practically lived in for a month. Now, I find myself drawn predominantly to handmade shoes; there’s a certain artistry involved that resonates with me deeply.
Fasting…
Currently, I’m trying to avoid eating anything before 12:30 PM. As a man of a certain age, I’ve noticed that merely thinking about bread can make me feel like I’m expanding in all the wrong places! I adore food of all kinds, and I owe much of my culinary appreciation to my mother, who insisted my sister and I finish everything on our plates. If any food was left over, it was likely to reappear at the next meal. In hindsight, I’m grateful for that strict approach, as it has made me open to trying just about anything.
Fortunately, Marj is an exceptional cook who can make even the simplest ingredients taste divine. I confess I have no idea what she puts in her dishes; my sole responsibility is to enjoy the meals, for which I am incredibly thankful.
