Lately I’ve been really inspired by architecture particularly from West Asia, and the ways objects and spaces hold memory. I’ve been looking at mosques, arches, old vessels, ruins and domestic objects, particularly things that feel like they’ve lived many lives. A lot comes from my own memories of growing up between Saudi Arabia and Canada and piecing together what “home” means when it isn’t necessarily one place.

Sound! I’ve been researching ceramic vessels that were embedded into Ottoman mosques to manipulate acoustics, which opened up this whole world for me around ceramics beyond the object itself. I’m curious about the intelligence embedded in old technologies and non-Western ways of making. Knowledge that was incredibly sophisticated but isn’t always part of the histories we’re taught.

I came to ceramics somewhat intuitively. I noticed immediately that clay humbled me. You can have a very specific idea and clay will basically tell you whether or not it agrees. Over time, it became less about learning to control the material and more about developing a relationship with it. I started practicing regularly around 2016 back when studios in Toronto were scarce. I made time throughout my undergrad degree to practice at different studios each weekend, which I had informal relationships with at the time. It was a very organic way of learning. Observing others, taking notes, trying different wheels and studio setups. 

That you don’t need to know what your “thing” is right away. I used to feel pressure to develop a recognizable style or make everything feel cohesive. Now I think the through-line is just me. Your interests change, your work changes, your life changes. That’s the point. I’d tell myself to stay curious and make the things I’m genuinely excited about.

There’s something grounding about working with a material that quite literally comes from the earth. Clay has existed long before me and will exist long after me. I love that it holds both permanence and fragility. Its materiality demands a relationship to be built with it, rather than an object to work on. It is very much alive, and I like the feedback it gives me.

Almost entirely. I usually start with a loose idea or image, but the best parts happen when I let the object become something I didn’t plan. Ceramics forces that anyway. There are so many variables you can’t control. I’ve learned to trust the moment where something feels slightly strange or intimidating... That’s usually where the best pieces come from.

I try not to ritualize creativity too much because then I start putting pressure on it. Mostly I collect things like images, books, screenshots, objects, sounds, conversations. I let them sit around in my brain without necessarily knowing what I’m going to do with them. Eventually, things that seemed completely unrelated start connecting to each other. That’s usually when I know there’s something worth making.

Discover more of Tamara’s work and follow her evolving practice on Instagram at @___solem ♡