Artisans of Dartmoor - Book - Page 136
before firing it in a kiln. Historically, saggars were
used to shield ceramics from the flames, smoke and
ash that are generated during the firing process.
However, modern potters take it further by adding
combustible materials, creating unique and creative
surface effects.
Some of Alison’s combustibles come from rather
unusual sources – dried dung from Dartmoor’s wild
ponies, for example – which Alison burns in the
saggar alongside discarded roof thatch, pine needles,
beechnuts and acorns, to suffuse her vessels in smoky
shades of taupe, dove grey and charcoal. “Dartmoor is
literally ingrained into my pots,” she says. “Each vessel
is unique – no design can ever be repeated.”
Despite her early love for clay, it took Alison 40
years to pursue pottery as a profession. After working
as a driving instructor, she spent 15 years running
an English language school in Kasama, a pottery
region in Japan, before realising that ceramics was
her true calling. “Being surrounded by potters who
gather their materials from the earth turned a light on
for me,” she says.
After moving to Dartmoor in 2004 to be near her
then-husband’s family, Alison immediately signed
up for pottery classes. Far from feeling daunted by
starting a new career later in life, Alison, who is now
in her 60s, found the change exciting. “It was the
first job I’d had where I felt I could really express
myself,” she reflects.
Initially, Alison set up her kiln in the garage of her
Chagford home, but in 2020, she moved to a new
studio on a Georgian estate on the outskirts of the
town. The space was originally a tack store for horses,
but was commandeered as an operations room by the
Home Guard during the Second World War. It sat
empty for decades until Alison moved in – the original
‘Troop Office’ sign still hangs on the door.
Her workspace is very compact – not much larger
than a standard single bedroom. But it’s a marvel
of ergonomics, cramming in two potter’s wheels, a
workbench, an electric kiln, a wood-burning stove,
a sink, several stools, a ‘pug mill’ for recycling clay,
and Nina’s bed.
The original bridle and saddle brackets above
the fireplace serve as hooks for Alison’s calipers,
carving tools, and siphons. On another wall, shelves
are stacked with precariously balanced jam jars
full of oxides and slips – the buttery, liquefied clay
Alison paints on her pots to infuse them with subtle
colours. “Dartmoor clay reflects all the colours of
the moor,” she says. “Pinks from the granite and
sunsets, greys from the tors, yellows from gorse, and
blues in summer skies.” In other jars, there are pearly,
silver-blue mussel shells, which she grinds up and adds
to her clay to create touchy-feely textures. “I want
people to feel compelled to reach out and stroke my
pots,” she says.
And what pots! Along with slender, curvaceous
vases imprinted with the delicate shapes left by her
foraged flora, there are barrel-bellied vessels with
rough, lunar-like surfaces and ochre-toned vases
traced with singed imprints of horsehair donated
by a local livery stable. Her mugs, bowls and plates
all have a wonderful smoked, smudged effect in a
colour palette of soft greys worthy of any Farrow &
Ball paint chart.
RIGHT: Alison applies an ultra-refined
clay slip to a freshly turned pot to give it a
soft, silky sheen. The technique, known as
‘terra sigillata’, is rooted in ancient Roman
pottery production.
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The Potter • Alison West
