I am a second generation potter.
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About my grandmother, Jean Garriock:
She raised six children and worked very hard to keep food on the table. Her husband was the love of her life but he was unreliable and made life hard for her and her children. She cleaned schools and churches; she waited on tables and worked wherever she could to survive. She loved to garden and her entire yard was filled with flowers, fruits and vegetables. She taught tap dancing and we would often see her, shuffle, shuffle, tap, throughout the house. She read books about art, history, politics and love. She was extremely passionate about life and spread kindness everywhere she went. My grandmother volunteered in soup kitchens and helped with organizations that were working to fight homelessness in our city. I heard her often say, "oh, that poor soul" when she saw anyone who appeared to be struggling in life. She knew the neighbourhood kids that needed a little extra love and help. She made them food and gave them spare change when she could. She would also yell at them from her porch - "get to school!" - if she saw them skipping class. She wanted everyone around her to be happy and to succeed. She hosted the first PFLAG group meeting in Niagara when my cousin came out to her as gay. This was during a time when society still held (as I know it still unrightfully does) many misconceptions and fears about the gay community. My grandmother Jean was a true pioneer woman living fully and wholeheartedly connected to this land. She was ahead of her times in her beliefs and viewpoints on life; she was funny, creative and wise. She helped all of her grandchildren navigate through difficult times in their lives; including myself. Although all nine of her grandchildren have all grown into very different human beings with different interests and ways of life, one thing is for certain, we all love and miss her dearly. |
Jean displaying her wares at one of the first annual Balls Falls Craft Shows, over 40 years ago.
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Here is a little story I wrote about her when I first started shed.
Homage to my grandmother, Jean Garriock. She gave me purpose.
My grandmother was a potter. Toward the back of her property next to the raspberry bush sat her little blue shed. Every time I slept over at grandma's house I would grab the key with the whistle attached to it and venture out to her shed. Even though her shed wasn't very big I would find myself lost in there for hours. Her shelves were filled with mason jars of powders, marbles, glass bits, sand, sea foam sponges and other curious things. An old wooden kick wheel sat pressed up against the wall. It was archaic and clunky, a tool that she never used but never parted with.
Along the large window overlooking the raspberry bush was her kiln. All I understood about the kiln was that it was powerful and we needed to respect it. A little timer sat in gramma's kitchen window and when the kiln was firing, it would go off every hour as a reminder that it was time to turn up the kiln. She would let us run to the shed with very specific instructions on which switch to flick on. One switch every hour for five hours.
Sleepovers at my grandmother's house looked like this: classical music playing on the radio, swinging sessions on an old wooden swing that hung from her big maple tree, and explorations of the world of arts and crafts. We stenciled clothing, painted pictures, made origami swans and boats and sailed them down Twelve Mile Creek, and (my favourite, of course) we worked with clay. When I was about five years old my grandmother and I made a wind chime that now hangs in my house for safekeeping. This is my first true recollection of getting my hands in the clay. The wind chime is an outline of my hands and feet, fired and unglazed, now strung to a small branch. Every element of this chime is pure organic beauty.
When I started to grow older and the sleepovers faded away so did my time with clay. In my early twenties, during a time of soul searching and uncertainty I found myself back at my grandmother's house. She was a wise woman and a kind woman. Desiring to know more about what made her a happy person I asked her to teach me more about her life passions. We spent time talking about gardening, baking pies, stewing jams, discussing books and potting. I felt at home and reconnected to my roots when I spent time learning from my grandmother. She had so much to teach and I quickly rekindled my fascination with her world of pottery. Our afternoons were spent in her dark dirt basement learning to center clay on the wheel. It was in these moments spent with my grandmother that I found myself and my passion.
My grandmother was a potter. Toward the back of her property next to the raspberry bush sat her little blue shed. Every time I slept over at grandma's house I would grab the key with the whistle attached to it and venture out to her shed. Even though her shed wasn't very big I would find myself lost in there for hours. Her shelves were filled with mason jars of powders, marbles, glass bits, sand, sea foam sponges and other curious things. An old wooden kick wheel sat pressed up against the wall. It was archaic and clunky, a tool that she never used but never parted with.
Along the large window overlooking the raspberry bush was her kiln. All I understood about the kiln was that it was powerful and we needed to respect it. A little timer sat in gramma's kitchen window and when the kiln was firing, it would go off every hour as a reminder that it was time to turn up the kiln. She would let us run to the shed with very specific instructions on which switch to flick on. One switch every hour for five hours.
Sleepovers at my grandmother's house looked like this: classical music playing on the radio, swinging sessions on an old wooden swing that hung from her big maple tree, and explorations of the world of arts and crafts. We stenciled clothing, painted pictures, made origami swans and boats and sailed them down Twelve Mile Creek, and (my favourite, of course) we worked with clay. When I was about five years old my grandmother and I made a wind chime that now hangs in my house for safekeeping. This is my first true recollection of getting my hands in the clay. The wind chime is an outline of my hands and feet, fired and unglazed, now strung to a small branch. Every element of this chime is pure organic beauty.
When I started to grow older and the sleepovers faded away so did my time with clay. In my early twenties, during a time of soul searching and uncertainty I found myself back at my grandmother's house. She was a wise woman and a kind woman. Desiring to know more about what made her a happy person I asked her to teach me more about her life passions. We spent time talking about gardening, baking pies, stewing jams, discussing books and potting. I felt at home and reconnected to my roots when I spent time learning from my grandmother. She had so much to teach and I quickly rekindled my fascination with her world of pottery. Our afternoons were spent in her dark dirt basement learning to center clay on the wheel. It was in these moments spent with my grandmother that I found myself and my passion.
On June 7th, 2014 I opened my doors to the public. shed was born.
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Fast forward to the present day and you will now find me busy in my home studio working along side my husband Ryan. In 2017 Ryan quit his corporate job to help with my exploding business. He is a natural clay artist and has proven to be an integral part of shed. He applies his science background to help with glaze development and his muscle has also proven useful in a job where lots of heavy lifting and manual labour is required. Of course he brings far more to the table then just brut strength, the more he learns the more creative he becomes and slowly, but surely, he is finding his voice with clay.
Ryan and I love each other deeply, so we thrive in an environment where we can be together always. That isn't to paint a false picture, of course working with your husband or anyone that closely day-to-day comes with its own set of challenges, but we have learned to be better communicators with one another, and ultimately it has deepened our connection. We now share a passion for clay and together we are growing as artists. Our country property is the perfect location to live our life as potters. Our small lot has allowed us the luxury of building a wood kiln onsite; which is now our primary firing method. We have built and renovated a portion of our home to display our work and the work of other Canadian artists and makers. We live peacefully with our adopted dogs, Chance and Julius, my sweet old cat, Townes and our flock of chickens that grows from year to year. This little homestead is all our dreams come true. 
Luna is a Lavender Oprington Rooster. He was brought to us by friends that rescued him from a bad situation. Because he was young and stressed when we got him, he had a lack of feathers, so, at first we thought "he" was a "she", but soon "she" grew into the biggest bird in our flock and we soon realized we have a handsome Roo.
RIP Luna. 2019-2020 Your life was short but your impact on us was forever. Thank you for being the sweetest Rooster and joining us at all our backyard gatherings. You will be missed.
My tweetheart. That's not a typo, it's what I call him, or Tweetie, for short. His official name is, Chance a.k.a., Galoot. He will indubitably greet you at your car when you arrive. He loves if you tell him he's handsome, just in case you want to flatter him.
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Julius and Ryan in the shop. Julius loves people and will scream at you as you pull in, don't be alarmed that's just his very LOUD hello!
Well hello, Soda! Our gorgeous Roo who is king of the flock. He is gentle and docile and does his job well at keeping order amongst the birds. He is also the Roo who is responsible for fertilizing our hen's eggs. We now have 3 of his offspring and more on the way this spring. We love you Big Soda.
Soda is a Red Crele Orpington.
My beloved cat, Mr. Townes Van Zandt, named after the late American singer-songwriter. He is known around here simply as, Townes, and he and I have been together the longest, long before my husband, dogs or chickens were around. He doesn't love the dogs and preferred life when it was just the two of us, but the times have changed. He is with us everyday in the studio, often sleeping in a clay box on our work table. You won't likely see him if the dogs are out, which is too bad because he does love to greet people. He was my first true love and I am thankful we have had, and continue to have so many fine years together.
Another picture of, Julius, because frankly the one above does nothing to show the essence of this handsome trouble maker.
Meet Butter the polydactyl forest kitty. She wandered up to my father's house in the valley one late summer's day (2020). We offered to babysit her for a week while my dad went off to work. A very long story short, she now lives here. It hasn't been an easy road; I had always said Townes would be be my one and only, so to have her join our family was unexpected. Now here we are happy to be together finding our way with one another and learning to appreciate her energetic and loving ways.
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