this is a cup. it just happens to be a cup for people whose brains have been running a bit too hot for years. and when I say “cup”, I really mean the whole wild little family – chawans, small vases, incense pebbles, the odd altar rock that doesn’t know what it is yet. it’s for the ones who lie awake doing catastrophe maths at 3am, then get up and drink supermarket coffee out of chipped “live laugh love” ceramics because they’re too tired to ask for better for themselves. I started carving these because my own head would not shut up. I needed one solid, heavy object on the table that felt like it could hold the noise without smashing. I’ve held back for years because I’ve been properly anxious, trying to be “palatable” online while everything behind the scenes was quietly coming undone. I’m past that now. if you’re still here, you’ve probably done the same – tucked your terror into a neat little box so you don’t scare the room. these pieces are for that version of you, not the version pretending everything’s fine. every cup is like a tiny altar portal. if you use it for coffee, it decides the tone of your day — storm cups = wild focus, glacier cups = cold but sharp, ember pods = quiet but ruthlessly competent. practically: I make these by hand in a tiny clay kingdom in Kenmare, out of a shoebox kiln that fits about three serious pieces at a time. there is no conveyor belt, no factory, no “back in stock” every weekend. it’s just me, a small dragon, and a lot of impatient hovering by the kiln.because of that, I’m doing this as slow preorders: you choose your altar – cup, chawan, small vase, incense pebble – and I carve and fire it in small batches. it means waiting a bit, but it also means your piece actually had a life before it reached you, not just a barcode. if you recognise yourself in this, welcome. there’s a haunted glacier altar with your name on it.

I'm opening preorders for the first small batch next soon - newsletter subscribers gets first access