I didn’t start out to be a potter.
Five years ago, I wanted to be a medievalist. I was in grad school, learning as much Latin and codicology and palaeography and textual analysis as I could cram into my head. I read things like Hildegard of Bingen’s Scivias for fun. And most of all, I liked food.
I mean, I’ve always liked to eat food, and to make it, but at that point my particular obsession was the social context of food. What we eat, and how we eat it, and who with, and when, and why. I wanted (but never found the right excuse) to write a paper about the concurrent rise of cities and fast foods, so I could make a pun in the title about burghers. I was considering a PhD thesis about the introduction of forks to medieval England.
And then I finished my MA and decided that was enough of that for now, and went home to Newfoundland and got a retail job to tide me over until something else came up, and then started playing with clay, and between one thing and another that year in Toronto seems very far away most days. And then it struck me at lunchtime that I still spend my days working on ways people serve food, but from a different angle.
 It actually is fun, if you can get a translation in the language of your choice, to read Hildegard of Bingen’s Scivias. Y’know, if you have a thing for long and rambly religiously-inspired acid trips.