ceramics
Miriam Cernuda
Please share a bit about yourself and your background.
I’m from Tossa de Mar, a small fishing village on the Costa Brava. Since I was young, I’ve been drawn to exploring and playing with the materials offered by nature. That curiosity led me to study both jewelry and industrial design, where I found new ways to give form to that connection with the natural world.
What was the early motivation to express your creativity through ceramics?
Ceramics came into my life quite naturally. It was a material that fascinated me from a very young age, something about its texture, its transformation, always drew me in. But it wasn’t until I was 27 that I truly reconnected with it. Since then, it has become a constant in my life, a space where I feel grounded, curious, and creatively free. I haven’t been able to step away from it since.
Can you share your thoughts on how your background in industrial design and jewelry has influenced your approach to ceramics?
Working with my hands has always been my passion. Each material and technique I’ve explored has offered me something unique, but in the end, it all feels like part of the same thread. Jewelry taught me precision and attention to detail. Industrial design opened up questions of function, interaction, and how objects live alongside others in space. What interests me most is what an object can transmit, the way its shape, weight, and texture can move something in us, quietly speaking to our senses and emotions.
Take us through your process. Do you have any particular rituals that help you dive into it with greater ease and foster a more natural flow?
I’ve always been drawn to history and ancestral techniques, and to the cultural exchange that objects carry with them. I also love to travel, so much of my research happens through those channels. I visit museums, search for information, take notes, travel to different countries, and try to connect directly with local artisans. I immerse myself as much as I can, allowing myself to make that journey through time. It’s this experience that I try to express through my ceramics, a personal interpretation, seen through my eyes.
We know that your travels along the ancient Silk Road have deeply influenced your work. How have these experiences shaped your practice, and what have they meant to you both personally and artistically?
It’s difficult to separate the personal from the artistic—everything is intertwined. Traveling along the Silk Road was more than just a journey through landscapes and cities; it was a journey through layers of culture, tradition, and material understanding. Each place offered not just new techniques or aesthetics, but new ways of seeing the relationship between objects, people, and daily life.
What struck me most was how culture shapes form. In Japan, for example, I noticed that ceramic shops often offer only a few types of bowls and plates, always in just a few sizes. There’s an intentional simplicity, a clarity in the connection between use and design. That observation shifted something in me. Not because I want to replicate their way of working, but because it made me reflect on how culture informs function, and how I might respond to that in my own context.
The Silk Road was, in essence, an exchange of more than goods, it was a profound exchange of ideas, values, and ways of life. Beyond silk and spices, ceramics also travelled that route, carrying with them stories, meanings, and symbols from one culture to another. That legacy of cultural dialogue still lives in the clay we shape today.
I was also deeply moved by how the same material, ceramic, can carry such different meanings depending on where you are. In India, for instance, a clay cup used for chai is disposable, often seen as low-status work. In contrast, in China, a single hand-painted porcelain cup can be revered and treasured. That contrast made me reflect on value, how it’s assigned, and how it shifts from culture to culture.
All of this has shaped not just what I make, but how I think about making. It’s given me a deeper awareness of the cultural weight that objects can carry—and a stronger sense of purpose in my own practice. I don’t see my work as reproducing what I’ve seen, but as weaving in the perspectives, stories, and insights that these travels have offered me. It’s a quiet, ongoing conversation between cultures, and between the past and the present—one that continues to shape the path I walk as a maker.
How do you keep an open mind for finding delight in trial, error, and experimentation and respond creatively to the challenges of working with clay?
This, I believe, is at the heart of working with clay: embracing the process, even when it leads somewhere unexpected. With ceramics, there is always a part that cannot be fully controlled. The glaze, the kiln, the temperature, the composition of the clay, they all respond in their own way. You have to learn to work with the material, not against it.
For me, making is a conversation rather than a fixed plan. I may begin with a drawing or an idea, but I never hold on to it too tightly. I prefer to let my hands guide the process, to listen to what the clay wants to become. Often, what emerges surprises me. A glaze might shift in color, a form might change in the kiln. Instead of seeing that as a mistake, I try to stay open. I ask myself what it is teaching me. What is this new direction trying to show?
Some of the most meaningful ideas in my work have come from these moments of uncertainty, what I like to call beautiful accidents. A misfired piece can reveal a whole new texture. A shape I was unsure about might lead to an entirely new series. Over time, I have come to trust these moments. I see them as part of the rhythm of craft. You stop resisting the unknown and start learning from it.
There is so much to explore in ceramics. The world of clay is immense. And beyond that, there are pigments, glazes, ash, firewood kilns. You could spend a lifetime discovering and still have more to learn. Recently, I have been exploring techniques rooted in Asian traditions, like ash glazes and wood firing. It has been a quiet, ongoing research over the last few years. Now, some of those influences are slowly finding their way into my work.
But I never rush it. I try to allow the pieces to unfold at their own pace. That way of working did not come naturally. It took years to unlearn perfectionism and to understand that the unexpected is part of the craft. In the beginning, it is easy to feel frustrated when things go wrong. But with time, you begin to see that those moments are full of possibility.
We're aware that you run ceramic workshops. Could you tell us more about your approach to teaching?
Right now, I offer one-day workshops, designed as a first encounter with clay. It’s a way for people to reconnect with their hands and let go of expectations. I focus on modelling because I see it as a fundamental technique, it allows people to feel the material and follow where it naturally leads.
In each session, we use different types of clay so participants can experience how texture, composition, and behavior change from one to another. It’s about observing, sensing, and learning directly through touch.
The workshops are open to everyone, regardless of experience. I keep the format simple, three hours of making, then I take care of drying, firing, and glazing. When the pieces are ready, participants come back to collect them. It’s a beautiful way to witness the transformation of clay.
I’m also developing a more immersive format — a one-week summer workshop where we can explore the full cycle of ceramic work, from modelling to finishing. It will be a deeper experience, with time to experiment, understand the materials more fully, and feel the rhythm of craft. I plan to keep it small, around seven people, to preserve a sense of intimacy and care.
For me, teaching is about more than technique. It’s about connection, with the material, with our bodies, and with a slower way of being. Clay invites presence. The texture, the weight, the temperature, all of it affects how we feel. Working with clay becomes a kind of meditation, a quiet conversation with the senses.
Where do you think lies the biggest potential to preserve important local crafts in the contemporary context?
For me, it's all about giving value, giving voice, and offering opportunities. It can often be very difficult for crafters to find these opportunities. There’s a tendency in today’s world to focus on the popular or the famous, and if you’re not well-known, it can feel like no one will support you. But there are so many individuals creating incredible work, often behind the scenes. They deserve a chance. Why not give them one? Sometimes, the world feels like it’s asking "Who are you?" or "Where do you come from?" instead of looking at what someone is truly creating. There are people who have all the financial resources in the world, but they might only create a few things, taking a pretty picture of something that lacks soul. On the other hand, there are people working from their homes, often in a garage, who are true artists, people who should be in museums. But they don’t get the recognition they deserve. What you’re doing, raising awareness about craftsmanship and the deep process behind it, is incredibly important.
It’s about showing the world that craftsmanship is not just about making things; it’s about creating something with meaning, intention, and connection. There are different kinds of craft: some are traditional and others are more innovative, but in both cases, the passion and desire to communicate something meaningful are there. People often forget that craftsmanship and artistry go hand in hand, and that’s what gives real value to the work.
What current projects excite you right now?
Right now, I’m working on a collection called Terra, which draws inspiration from the different routes of the Silk Road. It’s a collection that connects cultures and materials, reflecting the journey of goods and ideas across time.
Alongside this, I’m beginning another collection, though I haven’t found a name for it yet, that’s focused on ashes and has more of an Asian influence. This new collection is still in its early stages, but I’m really excited about it. I'm also diving deeper into more sculptural work. I want to incorporate new materials, such as wood and metal, into my pieces, and I’ve been researching sculpture for a long time. Some of the work in my current collection already includes sculptural elements, but I feel I’m just beginning to explore the potential of this new direction. It’s a research phase for me, and I know it will take time. I’m not in a rush; it’s important that the work grows naturally. Sometimes I feel the pressure to create quickly, but I remind myself that the work will come when it’s ready. It’s about being true to the process and letting it unfold at its own pace. The next collection won’t be finished this year, and that’s fine. I’m enjoying the journey, taking my time to experiment and refine my ideas. The process can’t be rushed, because if it’s not real, it’s not worth doing. And when it does come together, it will feel authentic and meaningful, both for me as the creator and for the people who experience it.
All photos belong to Miriam
