Sarah Lord Taylor

I'm not sure the people at work for you enjoyed us being there.

No, no, no.

We were a bit of a nuisance.

But no, it was good fun to kind of just, yeah, to see all this production.

It was lovely.

So did my middle sister, Claire, but yeah.

No, it definitely did feel familiar.

So my background was actually textile.

So I studied costume design and I worked for many years at Scottish Opera doing men's suits.

So I'd always done stuff with my hands.

When I started throwing, dad tried to teach us to throw when we were kids and we just weren't interested.

You know, and you're like, oh, boring dad stuff.

We've got other things to do.

And I regret that now.

But when I came to start throwing, it did feel,

like I understood what I was doing.

It didn't feel entirely alien to me.

And I love being in the workshop.

Yeah, sitting, kind of making things.

And the history I find so fascinating.

I think I never enjoyed dates and things like that.

So wars and guns and all of that stuff, not interested.

But when you've got like,

These people were here and they were eating this and they were clothing themselves in this.

And you've got objects with fingerprints on and you can start to think about stories.

It's the real people doing real everyday things, not the kings or the queens and all of that.

That's what I love so much about what we do is because we're looking into that everyday life of real people.

And I love that.

Yeah, so no guilt, no guilt to anyone who blew up something in the kiln.

Yes, definitely.

But I do also have clays that I hate to work with, but they're really functional as well.

I made dad a gift of a little figure of a horse and rider, and I put lots of paper into it because the paper sort of sits inside the clay and almost creates a skeleton that means it holds together more easily and isn't going to snap because when clay's dried out, it's so brittle.

It's very, very fine.

So it's absolutely horrible to work with.

It's a bit like...

you know when blue tack gets hot and it gets kind of like that sort of stretchy kind of sticky

yeah, it's like that to work with.

So it's horrible and also brilliant to work with.

So yes, I sort of, I hate it and love it at the same time.

And there was a horrible moment where he came into the workshop very quickly.

So I very quickly threw some bubble wrap over the top of it.

And then when he left, I lifted the bubble wrap off and it was almost dry.

It caught on the lady's hat and pulled her head off.

And I was absolutely horrified.

But thankfully, because I'd used the paper clay, I could get it back on there.

But I thought I've spent hours on this and I've ruined it in like a second.

It was just the most horrible moment ever.

But yes, it did survive.

I was going to ask, you guys must have your daily driver mugs that you use.

We've got lovely ones at home, but in the workshop, I have to say.

She's a Dolny Vestinyica, but yeah, she's from the Czech Republic.

She's lovely.

Tell me more.

One of the facts I love about the Dahlne Westinjitza is on the bottom, there is a child's fingerprint.

Now, we could say that it was made by a child, but I've got a son and I know that he comes into the workshop and goes, what's that, mum?

And gives it a prod.

And this is what I love, like having been made, it's lying drying and a child just comes up and pokes it in the bottom.

I can completely see it now as well.

Yeah.

So yeah, it's a wonderful little detail that clay gives you because other things, when they're carved, the fingerprints are not there anymore.

But clay preserves that human touch in a way that I don't think anything else does.

And it's amazing.

This is a question we always get.

Could you address?

Well, I mean, the clay buckets certainly get like that.

It's the decomposition of organic material, essentially, which, yeah, they can be really stinky.

Oh, yes.

We did.

When he was very little, he was only five.

You're going to make me sing now.

We used to sing granddad's buckets of grime, granddad's buckets of grime, granddad's buckets of granddad's buckets of granddad's buckets of grime.

And he used to sing that every time he would go around because, yes, you'd have these stinky buckets of grime.

That even sounds...

Well, Graham has some trauma from that film, I believe.

Yeah, it's good luck.

The phallus with the wings and the little chicken legs, he's called Phasinus, and he is a good luck god.

He's a deity of good luck.

So people would wear, you know, a phallus around their neck, like a little glass penis, essentially.

I mean, the plaque that I make that says happiness lives here, but I can't remember the Latin, but that was above a bakery.

So when you went to get your bread in the morning in Pompeii, you would have a big penis on the above the door.

And as you walked in, I guess it would give you luck.

I don't know.

I think not.

We could make pots all day, but tax returns, that's the worst bit.

That maybe doesn't answer your question.

It can be frustrating when things break, though.

It can be sometimes when you've made something and you've put a lot of love into it and then it goes into the kiln and the kiln gods are just not kind to you.

That can be quite soul-destroying.

Sarah, what about you?

Do you have a piece that sticks in your mind?

Well, at the minute, I'm really enjoying making their little Astarte figures.

They're from Cyprus.

From 1700 to 1200 BC is when they are.

What I love about them is they've got these sort of big ears, this kind of almost beak-like nose, but they've got earrings.

And so you have to put the earrings in afterwards.

What I love about them is it jingles.

And so you've got this kind of lovely female figure.

Sometimes they're breastfeeding.

And they're also a bit like a rattle.

And at the minute, it's something I just like making them.

Because when you get them out of the kiln, you just, each one, even though I know what's going to happen, you've just got to give them a little jiggle.

whether it's ironic or sincere,