DEBORAH TISO: SPOTLIGHT Q&A

I find the clay itself possesses similar qualities of fluidity intrinsic to dance movement, and encourages a type of dance duet between myself and the clay, as my hands and sculpting tools move across its many surfaces...

 

– Deborah Tiso, 2025

Eastwood Fine Art: You have experience across many creative fields, including graphic design, exhibition design, dance direction, choreography and writing, among others. Do you draw on these different areas in creating your ceramics?

Deborah Tiso: I used to be struck by how many differences there seemed to be between ceramic art and dance art, the most obvious being that ceramics is essentially a static medium, unlike dance, which is spontaneous and ephemeral. For me, the dissimilarities have become far less pronounced since developing my own ceramic practice, making vessels and sculptures. 

The first and perhaps most obvious connection between dance and ceramics is that they are essentially non-verbal forms of communication. Each type of clay I have experimented with has its own set of characteristics and indirect creative storytelling potential, much like individual dancers who bring their personal histories and distinctive talents to a performance space. The types of subtle movements applied to the clay during the hand-making process can alter intention and the meaning of a ceramic piece, in the same way that nuances within the choreography can skew emotion, or the narrative trajectory of a dance piece. On a different level, I find the clay itself possesses similar qualities of fluidity intrinsic to dance movement, and encourages a type of dance duet between myself and the clay, as my hands and sculpting tools move across its many surfaces.

I have in the past collaborated with a sculptor to create choreographic pieces that responded to his life-size human figures, so it is interesting for me to be making sculpture vessels myself now, and seeing the process from the opposite perspective.

Before I began a graphic project, I used to get out a layout sketch pad and coloured pencils and markers, to try and formulate my ideas as clearly as possible on paper, before attempting to commit them to another medium. This was so that the client had a good idea about what the work would look like. The same is true of my ceramic process, although I have now become my own client. I always begin with a series of sketches, so that I have a firm idea in my head about what I’m trying to achieve before I start moving the clay. I was drawn to working on exhibition design projects because of their three-dimensional quality, which I found far more satisfying than two-dimensional print-work. I suppose there is not too much of a leap from this type of three-dimensional practice to making ceramic pieces.

EFA: Your ceramics are made by hand coiling rather than on a wheel, layering abstract geometric form with the subtle tenderness of being handmade. Tell us about your process and how you think of your work.

DT: Another similarity that has occurred to me between dance and ceramics is that both processes are profoundly technique-driven. Classical Ballet for instance, produces a certain type of technical expertise, based on line and symmetry, which contrasts with the more grounded, abstracted, asymmetric concerns of contemporary dance. 

I find that the coiling clay technique in particular offers endless scope in terms of shape and dimension, and leads me up pathways that are not necessarily based on a perfectly symmetrical circle, the type of which can only be achieved on a wheel, and after many years of practice! The coiling method inspires me to build larger asymmetric pieces that tend towards more sculptural forms. Though the process is undoubtedly slower than throwing on the wheel, there is something about the quality of a hand-built object that has a unique subtlety. 

EFA: Have any recent experiences given a new perspective to your day-to-day work?

DT: One of the best things about living in London is the access to great exhibitions, theatre and music events. I saw Peter Doig’s wonderful 'House of Music' at the Serpentine Gallery recently. I really enjoyed the generous acoustic exchange between the easel artist and his musical collaborators, and wondered how a ceramic show might benefit from a sonic collaborative crossover such as this. Could there be potential here for the rhythmic processes of making ceramics and the rhythms of musical composition and performance to combine in some way, to influence the creation of ceramic designs?

EFA: Is there anything you cannot be without in your studio?

DT: Other ceramicists! It is wonderful to share a space with creative people who have similar concerns and enthusiasms.

Both dance and ceramics happen in a studio setting, which I must say, I do find very comforting. A similar camaraderie builds up in the ceramic studio space, and sometimes the ceramicists even stop to do some yoga stretches together, as working with clay can be pretty strenuous.

EFA: Most recently you have been developing your KIKU Japanese chrysanthemum series (shown as part of SPOTLIGHT), beautiful abstracted vessels that take the form of flowers. Can you tell us more about the background, and how you’ve interpreted it in the series?

DT: A few years ago a Japanese friend invited me to stay with her at her traditional Japanese home in Kyoto. This turned out to be an exciting and creatively fruitful experience. We visited many temples, potteries, and a stunning Kimono exhibition. The exhibition showcased beautiful weaving designs, including some depicting the chrysanthemum, or Kiku, the national flower of Japan. The blooms appear on the imperial seal and the 50 yen coin, and are considered a symbols of longevity resilience and joy. 

My ceramic interpretation of the flower head follows the more traditionally stylised, non-realistic shapes of chrysanthemums commonly used as a pattern on cotton ceremonial kimonos. I am exploring the simplification of the form of a chrysanthemum in terms of the paired down Japanese aesthetic I observed during my travels in and around Kyoto. The shape of the larger of the four chrysanthemum bowls I have arrived at is made up of just three curving sections that described the flower head in its most minimal iteration.