Clay and quietude: the poetics of Palawan Pottery

Pottery is equal parts method and philosophy. Can you walk us through your process, from sourcing local materials to the final firing?
I often begin with a story rooted in my memories of growing up on the island, focusing on a single cultural detail, whether it’s a word, a species or a local practice. From there, I spend several days in mental exploration and problem-solving, studying the essence of that idea and deciding whether handbuilding or the wheel is the best process to bring it to life. The goal is to shape functional ceramics that feel subtle yet approachable. At times, I experiment with wild clay gathered usually from nearby construction sites or ash from local materials like seaweed (lato), grounding the work even more in its place of origin. Once formed, each piece undergoes weeks of slow drying before being fired twice in the kiln, first for bisque and then for glaze.

There’s a quiet elegance in your pieces, often in their restraint. How do you balance functionality with artistry in your designs?
For me, functionality and artistry aren’t opposing forces but two parts of the same language. I like to pare things down to what feels essential, because that’s where the quiet elegance comes in. A piece should be beautiful, yes, but it should also feel natural in the hand, comfortable on the table, and easy to live with.

My work serves daily life while carrying traces of story and place. The balance comes in letting the form be honest—never too literal but never too overworked—so that the artistry is in the restraint, and the function enhances the beauty.

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Sustainability is often spoken about in design, but rarely practised at the material level. How do you ensure your work remains in dialogue with the land and its limits?
Sustainability starts with respect for our land, people and culture. Clay isn’t an endless resource, so I approach it with care, continually recycling clay and keeping production and firing at a modest scale. Beyond materials and process, I see sustainability as a practice of community: collaborating with and contributing to local makers, partnering with homegrown brands and markets and offering locals new ways of using and enjoying ceramics that reflect their own heritage. In this way, my work stays rooted in the island’s rhythms without taking more than it gives.

Finally, pottery carries a meditative quality. What have you learned about patience, time and imperfection through your practice?
Pottery, much like life in Palawan, has taught me to move with the island’s rhythms: slow, deliberate and never rushed. The clay asks for patience in drying and firing, just as the land and sea remind us that everything has its own season. I’ve learned to embrace imperfection the way we accept the rawness of nature here: as part of its beauty, not something to resist. And perhaps, most importantly, I’ve realised that by staying true to my own voice and vision rather than keeping up with trends, the right community will slowly and naturally find its way to you.

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