When I first fell in love with clay, it was magic. I still remember that first pottery class in Japan 10 years ago and how humbling and strangely addictive it felt to try and centre a wobbly lump of clay. I wasn’t thinking about selling anything, or building a studio, or teaching anyone. I was just in awe of the process. The rhythm of the wheel. The transformation from mud to mug.

Years later, that spark turned into a business. And not just a “side hustle”. A full-time, bills-paying, team-employing, class-hosting business. Elizabeth Bell Ceramics grew from a single wheel, to four wheels then to eight wheels, a team I adore, and retail shelves that (somehow) keep needing restocking.

It’s the dream. But I’ve also learned that turning your passion into your job takes work. Not just physical work, but emotional maintenance too.

Because when your creative outlet becomes your business, the pressure changes. You’re no longer making just for joy. You’re making to meet demand. To hit deadlines. To pay rent, reorder materials, keep up with emails, and get that kiln load out in time for a website update or deadline.

So how do I protect the joy?
How do I make sure clay still feels like a first love, not just a job?

Here are a few things I come back to, over and over.

1. I Make Time for Play (Even When It Feels Indulgent)

Not every piece needs to be perfect, or functional, or sellable. Some of my favourite studio moments are when I give myself permission to just make something unique. A new range a vases? Big and Small. Why not!

Sometimes it’s testing new ideas with no plan. Sometimes it’s decorating a vase with underglaze like my daughter Quinn would. Spontaneous, joyful, no rules. That kind of play keeps things alive.

2. I Let Myself Be a Beginner Again

Running a studio and teaching classes can sometimes put you in “expert mode” for too long. That’s why I intentionally put myself in situations where I can be a student again. I book into classes with other makers. I read books that make me rethink old techniques. I try things that scare me a bit, like altering forms I usually batch or painting on clay in ways that feel too loose or messy.

One of my favourite moments recently was collaborating with artist Lauren Danger. Her bold landscape brushwork challenged me to loosen up with my own surface decoration. It reminded me how invigorating it is to work outside your comfort zone.

3. I Honour the Seasons of My Work

There are weeks where I’m deep in production mode, trimming 20 bowls before lunch, glazing daily, firing two kilns back to back. Other times, things slow down. When the calendar gets quieter, I don’t panic, I treat it as creative season.

That’s when I design new collections, test glazes, and revisit old sketchbooks. The lidded jars and Lacey Bowls collections both came out of quieter studio seasons, where I wasn’t trying to meet demand but instead listened to what I felt like making.

I’ve learned not to expect balance every week, but to trust that it evens out over a few months.

4. I Don’t Do It All Alone Anymore

In the early days, I wore all the hats. Teaching, throwing, trimming, packing, emails, cleaning the splash pans. But it quickly became clear that doing everything myself wasn’t sustainable. Now I have a small but mighty team. Talented tutors who bring their own magic to classes, studio assistants who keep things running behind the scenes, and collaborators like Provenance Wines who help us host beautiful workshop days with long lunches and laughter.

Having support doesn’t just make the business run better. It gives me breathing space to reconnect with what I love most about my craft.

5. I’ve Grown to Love the Business Side Too

It might surprise some people, but I honestly love the business side just as much as the making. I love the hustle. I get such a buzz from building relationships with stockists like Natural Supply Co, who truly understand the heart behind handmade work. I love growing the team and creating meaningful employment for other local ceramic artists. Seeing others thrive within the EBC space is something I’m incredibly proud of.

Marketing and social media have become creative outlets in their own right. I genuinely enjoy planning product launches, styling photos, writing captions that reflect the real stories behind the pieces and watching our community grow from it.

And one of my biggest joys is collaborating with other local artists. Working with painters like Lauren Danger, Kimmy Hogan, and Leah Grant (coming soon!) has pushed me in new directions. It’s exciting and energising to combine different mediums, perspectives, and creative voices. That collaborative spark reminds me that this is more than a job… it’s a living, evolving practice.

6. I Stay Connected to My Why

At the end of the day, what keeps me grounded is remembering why I started.

It was never just about clay. It was about the love of making. The joy of creating something from my hands that could be used, enjoyed, gifted, and cherished. I’ve always been drawn to functional pieces. Things that become part of people’s everyday routines. That’s still what drives me.

I read kind messages from students about how their class gave them confidence. I see repeat customers come back for another mug that makes their morning coffee feel special. I watch someone centre clay for the first time and gasp in delight. Those little moments light the fire again.

They remind me that handmade work holds meaning. A mug isn’t just a mug. It becomes part of someone’s life. It sparks joy at breakfast. It’s chosen as a thoughtful gift. It gets used daily and becomes a favourite. That’s why I keep showing up at the wheel.

Running a creative business is both beautiful and exhausting. Some days I feel like a confident artist and leader. Other days I feel like I’m just holding it all together with a damp sponge and a cup of coffee.

But protecting the joy? That’s become a practice. Not something I leave to chance, but something I nurture… through play, through people, through purpose.

No matter how much the business grows, I’m still here for the joy of making something by hand that’s meant to be used and loved.