OUR HISTORY, OUR STAFF

I grew up in a house where the smell of clay and kiln smoke was as normal as the sound of music playing from the kitchen. My mom, Elena S., was a potter in Berkeley, California — the kind of person who made bowls that felt like hugs and mugs that warmed more than just your hands.
Her studio was in our garage. It wasn’t fancy — just shelves packed with drying pots, bags of clay stacked in the corner, and her old wheel humming under the window — but to me, it was magic. After school, neighborhood kids like Madison, Tyler, and Olivia would wander in ready to squish some clay.
They were my best friends. We grew up elbow-deep in slip and laughter, making lopsided cups and wild little sculptures we thought were masterpieces. The garage became our clubhouse, our art room, our safe place to just be ourselves.
My mom welcomed all of us like we were real artists. No pressure, no rules — just messy hands, big imaginations, and the joy of creating something from nothing.
Watching her teach, I saw how clay brought people together. It wasn’t about making something perfect — it was about slowing down, getting your hands dirty, and discovering what you could do. Years later, living in New York and working in design, I realized most people still thought of pottery as something exclusive — for artists, or for people with lots of free time. That felt wrong. I wanted to build a studio that felt just like my mom’s: warm, welcoming, and open to anyone who wanted to try.
That’s how the idea for Pottery Studio 1 was born. I called it “Studio 1” because it’s for first-timers — for people who are curious, nervous, or just need a creative escape. The same kind of space I had growing up. The same kind of spark that changed my life. Today, studios have grown into a small, beautiful network across several cities — but at the center of it all is still her spirit. I like to think she’d be proud — and probably remind me not to leave glaze buckets open overnight.

Clay has always been in my family. Now, it’s in yours too.