In Conversation with: Jago Poynter
Last month, we joined potter Jago Poynter in his Central London studio, its shelves lined with elegant forms in muted tones, the scent of clay and coffee lingering in the air. As he shaped clay at the wheel, we spoke about process, place, and the quiet power of objects that become part of our daily rituals.
Jago’s work is rooted in form and feeling. Drawing on years spent learning and making in places as varied as Jingdezhen, Cardiff, and the West Country, he creates ceramics that are both understated and deeply considered. From the curve of a rim to the balance of a handle, each piece emphasises the quiet beauty of form. In this conversation, we talk about what first drew him to pottery, how place continues to shape his practice, and why a humble cup can carry just as much meaning as a treasured heirloom.
Can you tell us how you first found your way into pottery?
Without realising it, I think it began during the time I spent as a child with my godmother. Her house was full of beautiful things: antiquarian objects, paintings, furniture, jewellery - but it never felt precious or showy, just lived-in and full of wonder. I think that early exposure planted a seed. Then at school, I found myself gravitating towards the ceramics studio. It was this light-filled space where you could just get on with it. I’d lose hours there building larger forms.
There was something about the process that immediately clicked for me. The feedback loop is so satisfying - the way a piece is revealed as you work. And I suppose I also drew confidence from being around objects at home. My father sells antique glass, so form and material were already in my periphery.
You went on to study in Cardiff. What was that experience like?
I studied at Cardiff Met, which has a really strong ceramics course. It was very hands-on and the kind of place where you had to be self-motivated. The facilities were fantastic, and I had the freedom to explore – I started working a lot with porcelain and became completely absorbed in it.
Through a friend on the course, I was introduced to Jingdezhen in China, the historical birthplace of blue-and-white porcelain. Over the next five years, I ended up spending several months there. The level of skill that still exists there is staggering. I learned so much just by observing. It taught me how to blend traditional craftsmanship with my own ideas.
Have there been artists - or even places - you feel have shaped your work, even if their influence isn’t immediately obvious?
So many. The Japanese potter Taizo Kuroda comes to mind. His work has this delicacy and quiet sensibility. James Tower, too - for his wonderful surfaces. And then there’s the glassmaker Venini - I remember seeing amphora-like forms of theirs in Venice and being captivated. Translating the idea of a form made in glass back into clay was a challenge, but one that really stuck with me. Glass is definitely part of my visual language.
You split your time between London and Somerset. What took you out of the city?
I was choosing between Somerset and Dorset, but Somerset felt right – and more than anything, it was about having a space of my own. In London, I’d been working in shared studios where you might have a table the size of a chopping board and barely enough room to turn around. That kind of close-quarters working requires incredible order and discipline, which I don’t much possess...
Getting a cottage in Somerset changed that. It gave me the physical space - and the mental space - to let the work grow. Frome has this quietly creative pull to it, and being surrounded by countryside makes a real difference. In spring, the place is verdant. That shift in pace and environment – it feeds into my work, makes it feel more fluid, less forced.
Can you talk a bit about your process: how you approach a typical day in the studio?
It really depends. On the best days, I know I need to make something - a commission, for example - and that gives me a clear direction. On other days, I might just throw for the sake of it, building up a small stock or simply exploring form and enjoying the material.
But it’s not always as serene as it sounds. The process is incredibly sensitive to timing, temperature, humidity; all of it. If the air’s too dry, a pot can harden too quickly and you’ve lost the moment. It’s a case of reading the conditions and making peace with the fact that things will go wrong. So you learn to be phlegmatic. Easing up on criticism in the name of experience. And just keep making.
You mentioned that some pieces, like cups, have a kind of intimacy. Can you say more about that?
I think cups hold a very particular kind of meaning. They fit in the hand. There’s somewhere to rest a finger. The rim needs to be just right. I spend a lot of time adjusting balance and glaze so that the object feels pleasing to hold. It’s very tactile - much like jewellery, in a way.
Jewellery is about adornment, yes, but also about contact - closeness to the body. I think cups have something of that too. They offer as much in the hand as they do to the eye and the daily ritual of their use can be so meaningful.
What’s your favourite part of the process (or your least)?
Throwing is definitely up there, but I also love trimming - it can be really meditative. That said, timing is everything in pottery, and that’s an ongoing challenge. You have to let the clay dry just enough, prepare the chuck, there’s an element of fitting yourself to the parameters of the material – if you get the timing wrong, the whole thing can fall apart. It’s why you often find yourself still trimming at 9pm when the pub quiz started at 8:30.
Finally, we always ask - is there an object you own, like a piece of jewellery or heirloom, that carries particular meaning for you?
There was a watch my grandfather passed down - it was beautiful, with a crocodile strap my mother had re-done for me. I wore it everywhere... and then left it on the beach. It wasn’t neglect, it just happened. The meaning we attach to things doesn’t protect them from being lost.
There is a draw to the quiet, everyday objects, like a favourite cup - the one you reach for each morning without thinking. Behind it lie the choices and sensibilities of the maker. It holds a small space, literally, in your existence. Through use, through familiarity It becomes important. It’s that closeness, to me, that makes something resonant.
Pieces featured include Callisto Necklace, Wide Band Ring, Coral Adjustable Ring, Thalassa Emerald Multi Stone Ring.