Exploding Clay with
Nathalee Paolinelli
The Vancouver-based Ceramicist
Is on Her Second Kiln and Still
Experimenting With Paper-Thin Pottery
- Interview: Molly Randhawa
- Photography: Rachele Daminelli
In her Vancouver studio, ceramicist Nathalee Paolinelli has learned to adjust to the volatility of her kiln—she is, by choice, at its mercy. Pushing the boundaries of what is possible in her craft through experimentation with texture, glaze, and firing techniques, she has developed a unique and delicate approach that results in raw forms and ridges, abstract textures, and pristine hand-painted line work often indistinguishable from our natural, living landscape. Paolinelli says this is unintentional. Bowls take the shape of sea anemone. Flower vases grow into barnacle form. She approaches ceramics like an ecologist—she notices everything. Natural phenomena that Paolinelli encounters close to home like lichen, jagged rock formations, and brittle coral are all present in her work. Despite this, the objects Paolinelli designs aren't defined by their form or function, but by their invitation to be interacted with. Much like nature, the organic shapes of her ceramics are open to interpretation, to play.
After working in the contemporary art world for six years as a painter, she began reflecting on whether a painting was ever really finished—a question she says she struggled to answer. As a student of the arts, trained in photography, illustration, sculpture, and painting—the natural course of action was to try something new. In 2015, she started experimenting with clay. The question of is this good? or is this finished? crossed her mind less. Ceramics became a grounding process of just doing, of exploring new materials and methods she would find through research online or reading books about ceramics around the world—her bowls and vases lending brilliantly to Japanese ikebana-style flower arrangements, for example.
Her studio is an ecosystem of past experiments all living together in a cohesive habitat. She builds on the last creation and pushes the limits while being humbled by the possibility that the process might not go her way. It’s a lesson in patience, but also trust, devotion, and an unwavering commitment to teach, learn, and ultimately enjoy the moments of being still.
Molly Randhawa
Nathalee Paolinelli
Do you find that working with clay is a more finite process than working with paint?
I know a lot of people sketch out their ideas and they have a plan—but I just start rolling a slab and see what it turns into. I don’t really start off with any plan unless I’m working on an order and it turns into more of a job and less exploring the material.
When I first started, I invented these ways of working that I wasn’t sure if people would respond to, but there’s this super paper-thin way that I work. People would ask, “Why are you doing that? It doesn’t make sense. It’s too fragile. How will you ship it? Who’s going to be interested in something that doesn’t seem like it’ll last forever?” It didn’t bother me. I wasn’t out to make a living from paper-thin ceramics. I was enjoying the process.
I needed something to ground me in a way, and I think that this does. And to do it in the privacy of your studio, where you don’t have to show anybody—and then when you do, people are not really understanding what’s happening. I got off on that.
People were almost afraid to touch my work. They would ask, “Can I touch that?” And I’d say, “Of course! This is meant to be enjoyed by people.”
It’s an intimate process, too, of creating for yourself and then sharing.
Sharing was hard. I’m thinking back to when I first had a sale at this gallery called the Western Front. I sold two things. People were almost afraid to touch my work. They would ask, “Can I touch that?” And I’d say, “Of course! This is meant to be enjoyed by people.”
How do you come up with your ideas?
I didn’t train to do this. So, anything that I’m doing is an experiment with glaze. I push it to the point that it turns this way [referring to a bubbled glaze that looks like lichen or moss found on rocks] and the combination with the heat, the firing temperature—it creates these things. [She presents two bowls, one with a flattened, spotty texture, and another with a risen, bubbly texture.] These two glazes are the same, but this [the bowl with a raised, bubble-like texture] is pushed to the point that the bubbles explode.
How often do things explode in your kiln?
Oh, [laughs] pretty often! I hope that they’re happy accidents, but sometimes it’s a total disaster. Enough failures and you’ll realize, Oh my god, I think I need to do a little bit more research. This is my second kiln. I feel like I’m in a place right now where mistakes don’t happen as often.
Do you feel like you learned a lot of lessons early on that can be applied to everyday scenarios?
Patience, for sure! I have to be super calm and Zen about the process. You have to be OK with the disappointments and you have to remind yourself that it’s a learning lesson,_ just like anything in life, right?
Patience is a hard one, though.
Because of what I do, but also because I teach, I have to have a lot of patience. It doesn’t faze me when I open the kiln and there’s six things that broke. I’m just like Oh, well. I guess I’m gonna be here for an extra four hours and remake everything that broke.
Teaching isn’t just about what you can share, but what can be shared with you. The exchange of energy and resources.
Totally, and conversations that evolve. I find that working with clay brings out this energy, where you’re giving your time and your stories. I’ve shared so many stories with people in [my studio], and they’ve shared with me. It’s pretty deep and intense. Maybe it’s the person I am, but I think it’s the environment too. People always come in here and they’re like, “Wow, there’s such good energy and the light is so inspiring!” They’ll look at all the pieces and then say, “Ah, I wanna try and make something!” It’s this awesome sharing that happens.
Your space_ is_ very welcoming.
Yeah, it's pretty crowded, but there’s so much experimenting going on with all of the students that come through here.
I wouldn’t say that it’s crowded, I would say that it’s lived in!
All of that top shelf is experiments from those coral pieces on the end. Then it moves through to work that I’ve made for other people, and then total one-off experiments that I’m still thinking about! That’s why I put them up there. I don’t sell those works. I keep them for future ideas. What if I wanna go back to that shape and I wanna change it in some way? I like to have things to look at.
The shapes are so similar, yet so different.
It’s interesting to look up there because that’s a period of six years of work. But they don’t look so different, there’s this cohesiveness to it—I tried out some painting styles or some glazing styles like those drippy glazes there or some splatter painting.
I keep it around because I’m just like, what is this? Is this something? I don’t know! I’m really inspired by going out into nature. Over time, I’ve made this connection that I don’t do it purposefully. But a lot of the work I make looks like some kind of oceanic creature or something. I never set out to do that, it just happened.
How do you want people to interact with your work now?
I always want people to enjoy the work and experiment with the foliage or flowers or whatever that they put in it. Or just pick it up and feel it! Enjoy that moment where you ask yourself, “What does this remind me of?”
Molly Randhawa is a freelance writer and editor interested in the arts, culture, food, and sustainability. She currently spends her time between Vancouver and Victoria, BC.
- Interview: Molly Randhawa
- Photography: Rachele Daminelli
- Date: September 13, 2022
