"Yet, I think pottery as a craft, is safe from being completely digitised, as like paintings or dining at an esteemed restaurant or seeing your favourite musician perform live, you’re there for the human aspect, not a machine reimagining and spitting strange variations out."

In a quiet corner of North London, Florian Gadsby has cultivated a space where the hum of the pottery wheel and the scrape of clay are more than just the sounds of creation — they are his meditative rhythm. Florian, whose journey from a Waldorf Steiner school to a globally recognized ceramicist has captivated millions, is known not only for his immaculate pottery but for the way he shares the beautiful imperfection of his process with the world. His hands might mold iron-rich stoneware into elegant vessels, but his true art lies in transforming the ancient craft into a modern, digital experience — one that combines artistry with ASMR in a serene, tactile symphony.

From apprenticing under masters in both London and Japan to amassing a staggering following on social media, Gadsby embodies the balance between tradition and contemporary flair. His work is not just pottery — it’s storytelling through clay, where each carefully thrown piece captures a moment of focus, skill, and perhaps, the occasional crack or glaze misstep, shared with absolute transparency. As we sit down with Florian, we delve into the mind behind the craft: the lessons learned from the Leach Pottery, the philosophy of imperfection, and how a studio once filled with the whirr of industrial laundry now echoes with a peaceful yet purposeful creativity​

Your body of work includes both functional tableware and decorative vessels. How do you balance the practicality of creating functional pieces with the artistic freedom of sculptural ceramics?

When I was learning the craft, I was obsessive when it came to making objects that were completely functional, think of thick rounded rims, handles ovoid, curved and smooth that snuggled into your grip comfortably and with bases finished in such a way that there’s no way they’d ever chip. Yet, these pots lacked character and didn’t stand out.

Nowadays, as my work has become more sculptural, I’ve let those elements seep into my functional wares, if that means they’re more prone to chipping or are less comfortable, (within reason), then I don’t mind. They’re special pots for people’s rituals and I suppose I’ve reached a price point that means the vessels are in demand and are deemed collectable — so I know for a fact that they don’t all see everyday use, so perhaps they can be thought of as the equivalent of that precious jacket you own that you take extra care of or only wear on certain occasions.

Of course, I like the idea of making pottery that can see everyday use, and mine can, but the pots aren’t as strong as industrially made ceramics and thus need a soft-touch at times. Given the choice, I’d rather my pots lean towards being more interesting, angular, fine, light and unusual, if that means sacrificing some functionality.

In 'By My Hands', you touch on how the process of making ceramics varies from place to place, which I find intriguing. Without giving too much away from the book, what do you think drives those differences? Is it more about culture, local history, and traditions? Or is it environmental? Do the materials from the locality play a bigger role? Maybe even the types of objects people use daily in places like the West versus Asia, where you’ve spent some time?

It all plays into it to some degree. Environment, tradition, local history, the craft history, the food that’s eaten and when, I suppose, certain techniques where discovered. In fact, the differences found are just like a country’s cuisine, as historically the types of pots made would have relied on the local materials, which is precisely why it’s such a varied and diverse craft.

Asia, especially China, Korea and Japan, have a much more deeply rooted connection to ceramics due to the age of the craft but also because of the respect they have for it. People grow up using specific handmade pots for certain meals, ceremonies, tea, and as nations, (especially Japan), they’re focused on preserving craft and tradition. It’s a beautiful thing to behold as during my six months apprenticing in Mashiko, Japan, witnessing the reverence they had for pottery was so refreshing. The respect for the craftspeople, those who’ve dedicated their lives to making and the objects they create is something we rarely see in the West and I don’t think as a society we’ll ever reach the same point, sadly. The Japanese being so respectful of their surroundings, the cleanliness of their streets, being courteous and thoughtful of their peers, all plays into their respect of tradition in many aspects of their lives, and that’s something we’ve lost.

I suppose a second part to that question is how do you feel your own environment has informed and continues to inform your practice and in turn the objects you make?

It’s funny, the question I hate being asked is what inspires you, mainly as I think many people default towards ‘nature’ in a vague, often uninspired way. We’re all inspired by the world around us, yet I think there is a meanness of the city that comes into my work, unintentionally perhaps. It can be seen in the angularity, the sharpness’s, the fine edges and the glassiness or metallics I use as veneers over the strict clay-work I work so fastidiously over. I grew up in London, commuting through tunnels clad in metal, concrete, glass, it’s all snuck its way in somehow.

In an ideal world I’ve love to be able to dig up clays and gather materials for glazing from my local area, but most of its lower firing stuff and obviously you can’t dig too freely around High Barnet, perhaps ultimately, it’ll be this that drives me from the city, as incorporating the land around you into your pots, even in a minor way, feels like it gives them more gravitas and provenance.

In short, I’m not as informed by my local environment as I’d like. Many of my raw materials are shipped from suppliers across the UK who source their feldspars from Spain. It’s also interesting that in many ways I feel more connected to international makers than I do local ones, as my practice operates mainly online, (I don’t stock shops here and only participate in the rare exhibition). So, whilst being a hermit-potter for much of the time, I still feel very connected to the wider world.

When starting a completely new piece, how formed is an idea before you put clay to wheel? Is your work ever reactionary in the moment or is there a clear form and finish in mind?

I almost never throw without some image of what I’m making in my mind beforehand. The idea could just be as vague as ‘angular bowls’ but that alone dictates how I centre the clay. There are different shapes you leave the centred mass depending on the vessel thrown thereafter, so going in blind never happens. In fact, I’d ague any seasoned potter knows approximately what they’re going to make before the fact. They might say otherwise but I don’t believe them.

Many of your pots are designed for daily use, yet they are created with such care and precision. What do you hope people experience when they incorporate your work into their everyday lives?

I have a few cups by Jaejun Lee, a Korean potter who makes the most exacting, special, handcrafted pots. They’re finished to such a high degree that I marvel at the fact they were actually made by hand and they’re a joy to hold, to drink from and to look at. I’d consider myself very lucky if people have the same reaction as that.

You’ve previously mentioned that a potter’s studio reflects their mind. Can you walk us through your creative process, and how you organise your studio space to foster focus and calm?

People always comment that my studio’s so tidy I must not make any pots. The truth is I cannot focus if the space is messy, again, relatively, so that’s the first thing that helps me keep a clear, focused mind. At the same time, irritatingly perhaps, as I’ve carved out this modus operandi of selling and blogging online, having a neat space helps keep things photogenic and orderly, there’s an image I’ve somehow cultivated and I feel the need to keep that up.

Secondly, I try not to have too many external ceramic influences in my space. It’s hard enough trying to be original these days and when you hop on your phone and spend ten minutes scrolling you can see thousands upon thousands of pots that might subconsciously enter your mind and you find yourself recreating them. For that reason, I try to live with only my pots on the walls around me, together with metal objects, bowls, bookends, and scraps I’ve found, as I like the idea of letting another medium influence my work as it leads to new and novel ideas.

Anyone else coming in though would just think I have an obsession with lining pots up in neat rows or in height order.

You’ve discussed your passion for glaze experimentation. What recent glaze technique or discovery has excited you the most, and how do you decide which pieces to apply it to?

Continuing the thoughts from above, as a way of saving seconds, (pots that fired poorly due to small glaze defects, or warping, et cetera), I’ve been brushing those that still retain good shapes with layers of black iron oxide, metal, then I fire them a second or third time to 1290ºC in a reduction atmosphere, (cone ten for you potters reading). This creates these wonderfully complex metallic surfaces that are always similar, yet never the same. They’re covered in rivulets of mirror-like metal, droplets, pools of iron and rust-like striations. They aren’t the most functional vessels due to how brittle they are, yet they’re strange and moody and often don’t even feel like ceramics, and I love that.

Looking forward, is there anything exciting on the horizon or are there some personal or artistic goals that you haven’t yet explored but are eager to pursue in the coming years?

Larger pots with increasingly metallic surfaces, explorations with crimson clays and crimson glazes I’ve been experimenting with and simply continuous making have been what really excites me. There are a few upcoming projects but nothing I can speak about yet, sorry.

A second book has been on the cards for months now. I have a few odd drafts for chapters, ideas, sketches for pages to include but I’m still trying to figure out a narrative I’d like to tell. My first book, ‘By My Hands: A Potter’s Apprenticeship’, was easy to write as fundamentally it was a memoir that explored the ideas of teaching, tradition and how craft changes from place to place and from person to person. But, as they say, the journey is often more interesting than the destination and since 2019 I’ve practically had my head stuck in clay, simply making pots. There have been life-changing moments and those of intense practice and dedication but nothing that warrants another 400 pages.

But there is something, perhaps…

You’ve expressed admiration for traditional pottery techniques. What modern innovations in ceramics excite you, and how do you integrate tradition with contemporary practices?

If I’m being completely honest, there isn’t much about most very modern and innovative ideas that excite me in ceramics, 3D printing clay has sprung up but those types of pots aren’t what got me into this craft. I always wanted to be really good at something, it could have been metalwork, illustration, set-design, but the wheel happened to land on pottery. I wanted to be skilled, a fluent craftsperson, a maker of teapots, plates, lidded vessels, anything, and I hate to say that 3D printing clay takes away from that, (as there are people using it in an interesting way), but for myself it takes away from the most joyous part of the process.

I’ve seen some craftspeople use AI to help ‘expand’ on their work, as a tool for inspiration. You feed it a collection of photographs of your work and ask it to create something new or innovative that stays within the same family, yet pushes the bounds in some other way. I don’t have much of an issue with this, humans have always found new ways of finding inspiration and they still have to craft said objects.

Yet, I think pottery as a craft, is safe from being completely digitised, as like paintings or dining at an esteemed restaurant or seeing your favourite musician perform live, you’re there for the human aspect, not a machine reimagining and spitting strange variations out. You’re there for the maker, the person, and what they can do.

And now onto 5 Good Things. This is where we ask you to recommend 5 Good Things in your city and hopefully inspire people to check them out?

A restaurant/cafe you’d recommend and what dish in particular?

The glass noodles from Kiln are worth queuing for, the restaurant’s name is also so incredibly fitting. I go here any chance I can get.

A documentary everyone should watch?

It might not be a documentary but David Attenborough’s visit to legendary potter Lucie Rie’s studio is heartwarming and brilliant and gives so much life and character to a craftsperson that’s so revered.

(Series 16, Episode 6. Attenborough interviews Lucie Rie about her studio pottery).

Someone whose work inspires you?

Jiro Nagase, a Japanese metalworker/sculptor who uses nothing but aluminium in the most ingenious ways.

A hidden gem, someone whose work you think deserves more light?

Eve Gnoyke, she makes lovely wood-fired pots and clay buttons, which I’ve joyfully, and badly, sewn onto my old worn ‘apprentice’ jacket, completing the circle.

A place to go relax, escape or find inspiration in your city?

I really apologise for such an obvious answer but Hampstead Heath is a very special place. We’re lucky in London regardless due to how much greenery there is, but the Heath is expansive and there are paths secluded enough that you can easily get lost in them and escape the bustle of the city and other dog walkers. My partner, Daria, and our miniature dachshund, Ciro, always look forward to our weekend strolls here. Trees overhead, leaves and mud now mingling and a long-chewed branch in Ciro’s teeth, he likes to carry the longest one he can find and whack passersby’s shins with it.

You can find out more about Florian and his beautiful range of works here.
Florian wears the 3024 Drill Overshirt with Layered Pockets.