A Love Letter to Spring
My first blog post! Spring in San Antonio, TX and the blessing that is listening to the brilliant Linda Perez speak about her ceramics practice.
Tree Cholla (Cylindropuntia imbricata) Photographed in the Southtown neighborhood in San Antonio, TX. Native to South Colorado, all across New Mexico, west Texas, far southeast Arizona, west Oklahoma, west Kansas.
I never used to like spring when I was younger. It always felt too brief, like a half-step before summer. It never matched the cool, fresh springs I imagined from movies or northern areas of the US. Instead, it was humid and stifling, like standing in a greenhouse. I hated having to shed my layers too soon and often wished winter could just stick around a little longer. Even if I craved a break from the heat, the water was too cold to swim in, yet the oppressive warmth made being outdoors miserable, with mosquitoes swarming in the thick, humid air. Maybe I didn’t understand time then, or maybe now, with age, I’ve learned to savor spring’s renewal. These days, it feels longer, gentler, and has quickly become one of my favorite seasons.
For plant nerds, it’s peak season for us. Sprouts sleepily unfurl from the soil stretching like swaddled babies, unwrapped by the mist of spring drizzle. Blooms trumpet their arrival, reminding us of nature’s lush, saturated palette. Familiar plant friends return, just as their faces fade from memory, while new ones catch my attention and make me wonder what lessons they’ll teach me now that we’ve been acquainted. Everywhere I look, I find inspiration in the shapes of plants, their flowers, and the tender new growth emerging from hibernation. It makes me want to capture their forms in clay, like a picture etched into memory.
Dessert Willow (Chilopsis linearis) native to south central Texas, plus Michelle being curious :)
I’ve been inspired by the folks I’ve had the privilege of listening to this season. The stories of ceramicists and artists who have been in the game for a long time blow my mind. One in particular I keep revisiting is Linda Perez. She recently did an artist talk and demo hosted by Anita Becerra and Michelle Hernandez of ‘Dirty Talk’ at Mercury Project. It seems like Linda has had many lives. Each story she wove into her demo was more inspiring than the last. Everything from living in Africa to raising cattle to becoming a late-in-life ceramicist tickled me. (She even had a fun story about meeting Selena!) To me, the most romantic part of her life is where she is currently. Living on a ranch south of San Antonio, where she throws clay on her porch and befriends all the critters that visit her. Michelle says that Linda is who she wants to be when she grows up, and I have to say I agree. Linda is major GOALS.
Linda’s approach to clay is waste-conscious, process-driven, and experimental. Her finished pieces are unfussy, yet sophisticated with a primitive uniqueness that still feels familiar. She shared how she saves her scraps to reuse, or process into grog that she adds to her clay (already groggy or not) - a very signature look to her work. She also demonstrated making grog out of glass (yes, you heard that right), which surprisingly didn’t yield any injuries. The technique results in exploding constellation clusters on the surface of her vessels once fired — it’s nothing short of magnetic.
Among the wealth of wisdom she shared, what stuck with me was this: slow down and let the clay speak. Don’t force it to do what you want — instead, invite it into the conversation. And when it comes to yourself: critique, but don’t criticize. Know the difference.
Listening to Linda lit a spark in me—a reawakening not unlike the arrival of spring. Her stories and process stirred something familiar: the quiet energy of new beginnings, the beauty in slowing down to notice the world blooming around you. With age and practice, both in life and clay, comes the wisdom to savor that fleeting brightness. The world buzzes, eager to be part of the conversation—like flowers announcing their presence, or stars flaring into constellations on the surface of her vessels.
A few items from Linda I’ve collected.