“It’s a clay body — that’s what you call the type of clay you’re working with,” Clauson says. “And it’s very flesh-like, but it’s boundless. You can create anything within it, and it made the most sense to create bodies that push the boundaries of what we understand or normalize, and through that be able to talk about trans bodies and experiences.”
Thanks to the malleability of clay, artists like Clauson can produce unique pieces such as mugs, bowls and candlesticks, or even more ornate sculptures and large-scale vessels. The pottery process ultimately boils down to envisioning an object and bringing it to life through hand building or wheel throwing—then waiting to see how it takes shape after it’s developed under heat and fire.
It’s also a practice that helps foster not only creativity, but community, as I discovered after speaking with Clauson and four other trans ceramicists. Below, they shared details about their work, creative processes, and what brings them inspiration and joy in their own homes.
Daniel Clauson (they/them)
Many definitions of “home” make their way into Clauson’s ceramic work, which includes sculptures with torsos and legs clustered or coiled around each other. The artist considers “home” in terms of physical space, but also of chosen family and trans identity, focusing on questions such as “How do you feel at home in that body?”
They were “quite nomadic” throughout their lives, and settling in one space means finally being able to collect objects that bring them comfort. Clauson says a lot of their home decor is thrifted or gifted by friends. That includes an “absurd mug collection” from fellow artists like Dehmie Dehmlow, Brynne Moore and Megan Billingham.
“Community is such an important human experience, and home is [also] such an important human experience”, they say. “A lot of queer people don’t have the ease of having that presented to them. They have to go out and do it and create and cultivate those communities.”
Other interior favorites include a giant spider plant, plus art prints by Kemar Wynter, Tatiana Simonova and AO Roberts. They see their home as a “little nest” in a way, with comfortable fabrics and sheer curtains that add energy to the space. However, most mornings you can find Clauson sitting on their breakfast bench, cup of coffee and book in hand.
Micah Sweezie (they/them)
Growing up in a predominantly white and cishet community, sculptor and potter Micah Sweezie didn’t know many people like them. Pottery was a means of meeting other people with similar backgrounds and stories. “As I’m starting to post more of my artwork that’s true to me, other people are reaching out to me and saying, ‘I see you, I see this, I recognize this, I resonate with this’ — oh my god, it’s just a wonderful experience,” Sweezie says. .
For a recent commission, Sweezie created a double set of coasters featuring images of popular brands of rice paper, recognizable in many Southeast Asian communities. A strange person of Vietnamese roots reached for the piece; Sweezie says the relationship was important to their work, even though the two never met. “I just felt super comforted and also celebrated,” they say.
At home, Sweezie filled their space with wall art, handmade pottery and Chu Đậu ceramics — ancient Vietnamese pieces. They also keep their work around, including items they made in high school. “It’s really eye-opening to grow with these pieces and witness your own growth and change of mind towards these works,” they say.
“One of the things I really like about the queer artist community is [that] I have a lot of pieces in my home that trade with other artists,” they say. “I’ll make a piece of them, and they’ll make a piece of me.” They currently have a wall dedicated to ceramic fish, some made by themselves and others by artists like Lilian Wu. Another recent exchange involves Gabby Kash’s large handmade stuffed animal.
After days of helping others work on their pieces, Neary spends time in their home studio. “It seems a little silly to teach ceramics and ceramic technique all day and then come home and make more ceramics to relax,” they admit. “But I’m working on my own stuff, especially painting ceramics — I discovered [it] really relaxing.”
One wall of the studio is covered with blackboard paint, so the artist can sketch out new ideas. A bar above their workspace also doubles as a place to dry block-printed shirts. Filling out the rest of the home, Neary’s partner often thrifts for vintage Italian ceramics, including Bitossi sconces. The couple tries to avoid turning on overhead lights – opting instead for string lights, table lamps and candles.
Lucas Pincer-Flynn (they/them)
As a kid in Brazil, Lucas Pincer-Flynn remembers making little sugar dogs with his grandfather for his brother One hundred and one Dalmatians-themed birthday cake — learning how to deftly shape the contours of each little animal. “It’s still the same way I make a lot of my little animals,” they say. In his work, animals, people and nature come together in dreamlike scenarios.
“I like to be open to getting to know myself again and again, not judging myself because I’ve changed my mind about my perception of myself,” they say. “I [it’s the] the same [for] my art; I like to feel like my pieces have different lives. Like, their lives in my head when they come as inspiration, and then they transition as I make them with my hands, and then they transition again through the shooting process.”
In the bedroom, they keep a colorful wooden fish on the wall; it is made from cashew wood, they explain, which they remember climbing in their godmother’s home. Other reminders of Brazil include a basket woven by their grandfather and handmade Pincer-Flynn corn husk dolls that point to traditional folk art.
AJ Justice often features snakes, bugs and other seemingly terrifying creatures in his works, turning them into common fruits of our natural world. “I see myself more as a storyteller, and ceramics seems to be the most convenient way to do the things I imagine,” they say. When teaching others the process of making clay objects, they emphasize that they are okay with making mistakes. “As long as you allow yourself to, the clay will also forgive you,” adds Justice.
As a Taurus, the artist feels a kinship with the earth and a commitment to creating intentional objects. One of the first pieces they made was a double-handled bowl that is used today as a vessel for burning written intentions.
“I light a candle, and then from this little notebook I fill a four-inch sheet of paper with intentions and affirmations,” they say. “I’ll go down to the papers and read them out loud one by one. And it’s really important that I say the intention or the affirmation with my whole heart, with my whole breath—that I say it as I mean it, and tear up the paper, and then light it and throw it into the bowl.”