It has taken me a while to write down the words which I spoke from my heart at Thelma's funeral... - it would have been her 90th birthday today, and many will be raising a glass, myself included (in India) in memory of my dear friend and teacher....

I met Thelma nearly 20 years ago, at my degree show at the Royal College of Art – That was the beginning of a serendipitous and inspiring relationship and I became her studio assistant. It didn’t take long for me to discover that Thelma was an artist as well as a potter and as passionate as she was perfectionist in getting the form of the pot right. Thelma taught me more about making pots than I learned at the Royal College – (As a painter in the ceramics department, I was a novice at throwing and so I worked mainly on hand-built pots). In a way I was an apprentice, as well as studio assistant, to Thelma. She taught me so many things it is not possible to put them all into words: “Stand back from the pot – look at it from all angles” encapsulated Thelma’s take on life and how to live it – She taught me not to be precious, to persevere and to “ throw away the ones that don’t work and have another try…” She encouraged me to strive for the perfect form that expressed the energy and life of the pot – for a sense of uplift that spirals outwards and which would be impossible to achieve if the pot was too heavy at the base – Getting all these things right would make the pot ‘sing…’

Even the processes that were involved in preparing the clay were a lesson. Removing the impurities, wedging to get the body of the clay ready for throwing. Glazing and the preparation of the glazes were the most challenging part. Thelma’s beautiful yellow crackle glaze was a technical challenge which always kept me holding my breath during firings as the glaze has to shrink a little more than the body of the pot in order to create the crackle – too much and the pot would crack, too little and the crackle would not be there… This was not for the fainthearted! “To crackle or not to crackle?” was often my question as I waited for the firing to cool so I could open the kiln and find out. Every firing was reviewed - Thelma’s meticulous recipes and notes helped here and were a source of precise technical information as well as her poetic observations and notes–which were useful in deciding on which recipes should be tested or used again – “too shiney-try without tin..” “ nice and hard when raw – may craze (nice crackle?) “ or my favourite: “ a nice opalescent moon glow...”

Thelma and I spoke 2 weeks before she died about pots and glazes. I asked her what form she would make if she was making a pot now – She started by describing the glaze -she was thinking that she’d like to have a red glaze – not a brownish red, but a pinky red – the form would open up at the base, and then close in, almost creating a sphere and then open upwards and out. I hope to make such a pot- to try to capture that sense of grace which encapsulates something of Thelma.

I will miss Thelma enormously. I am so thankful for her special friendship over 18 years as well as everything that she taught me and shared with me. I have chosen an extract from a favourite poem by TS Eliot which expresses a glimpse of the spiritual element in Thelma’s pots, which transcends time…….and which for me is a reminder of her spirit expressed in their form…

Extract from V and IV of The Four Quartets – Burnt Norton, by T S Eliot

….After the kingfisher's wing
Has answered light to light, and is silent, the light is still
At the still point of the turning world.

Words move, music moves
Only in time; but that which is only living
Can only die. Words, after speech, reach
Into the silence. Only by the form, the pattern,
Can words or music reach
The stillness, as a Chinese jar still
Moves perpetually in its stillness.
Not the stillness of the violin, while the note lasts,
Not that only, but the co-existence,
Or say that the end precedes the beginning,
And the end and the beginning were always there
Before the beginning and after the end.
And all is always now.

Thelma's slightly hooting laugh at something mildly grob sticks with me although I've not seen her for decades. So does the light sting of her hand as she knocked a bottle of her best sherry out of my mouth some 40 years ago. I do wish one didn't lose wonderful people with time and geography.