Before you book, I invite you to reflect on the mission that guides my work. My hope is to offer a deeper look into why I’m sharing these teaching offerings with you.

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For the past six years, I’ve been chasing a kind of divine form—a curve that falls into place perfectly, from every side and angle. The more I’ve searched, the more it has eluded me. I now believe that form doesn’t exist—not in totality. Only glimpses. Just enough to keep me searching.

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It’s not a conclusion born of nihilism, but of Ithaca—Kavafi’s poem. The journey is the point. I’m writing this now on a quiet beach in Andros, Greece—surrounded by a billion perfect rock forms made by nature. So I ask: why not just pick one up and be satisfied?

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It would save me the countless hours in the studio. Making, trimming, failing, trying again. Firing gone wrong. Then trying again. Then getting it semi-right. Then chasing the next idea.

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On paper, it sounds exhausting. But if I imagined a life without this process, I don’t feel relief. I feel emptiness. Trapped. Powerless. Kandinsky writes of the artist’s “inner necessity”—I feel that thread strongly.

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There’s another why, too. Duality always exists.

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Virginia Woolf once wrote about the need for a space of one’s own. I think of how women have carried craft through millennia, and whether this helped their spirit survive at times when it seemed unlikely to. For me, making has often been a lifesaving force—especially when I had no words yet for what I was experiencing.

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In the movement of my hands and clay, something shifted. A new energy emerged—something that carried me through.

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One time, during a personal crisis, I considered cancelling a workshop. I didn’t think I had the emotional space to hold it. But a few participants were flying in from overseas, and their effort helped me find the strength I needed.

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What I feared most the night before turned out to be one of my most profound professional experiences—and the reason the Woman Vessel Workshop was born.

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I left the heaviness outside the studio. Nine women from all parts of the world gathered and made together—and in that exchange, I received exactly the healing I didn’t know I needed. I can only speak for myself, but it felt like we were moving through joy and grief together.

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At the time, I was searching for a lifejacket. I didn’t know I would receive it by serving others through my craft.

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Years have passed since, and although life feels full and even blissful right now, the sacredness of this practice has only deepened. One of my greatest privileges is to offer this process for others to keep in their toolkit—whether for a time of need, or simply for joy. I find those two often intertwined.

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I look forward to meeting you in one of the sessions listed below.

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Karina