Hand thrown ceramic, glazed, unique one-off object by Katrin Moye.
Size: 24 x 13.5 x 13.5 cm
The Rites of Spring is a new collection by Katrin Moye.
In the depths of last winter, we commissioned British ceramicist Katrin Moye to create a joyous collection for spring which chimed with the artist’s desire to make a collection which ‘nurtured hope and to find a sense of optimism during the long winter lockdown’.
The thought of the seasons turning toward spring in any year can bring a sense of rejuvenation, but this year more than ever it feels especially exciting to see flowers pushing through the earth and blossom returning to bare stems. And Katrin Moye’s new collection is in celebration of this moment.
As always with Katrin’s work there is much thought behind the pieces. Often influenced by literature this collection was inspired by the line ‘The happy time of signing birds is come’ from the John Clare poem A Spring Morning (c.1820).
A collection of large platters feature the lines of spring-inspired poetry whilst the pots, posies, large celery-style jars, bud vases and flower bricks are an unadulterated celebration of spring flora. Each piece is hand painted and hand thrown in response to 17th century Delft style silhouettes which in themselves are designed to hold and display flowers and foliage.
Katrin wrote last November that she “hopes that this new collection helps to remind us how resilient people have always been. That however far back in human history you look, the darkest times have never lasted, that spring has always and will forever return and the happy time of singing birds, both literally and metaphorically, is just around the corner.” Alone in her studio in Nottinghamshire, with the radio for company, throughout this long winter, she has certainly created a poetic and joyful collection which celebrates the season.
A Spring Morning
John Clare - 1793-1864
The Spring comes in with all her hues and smells,
In freshness breathing over hills and dells;
O’er woods where May her gorgeous drapery flings,
And meads washed fragrant by their laughing springs.
Fresh are new opened flowers, untouched and free
From the bold rifling of the amorous bee.
The happy time of singing birds is come,
And Love’s lone pilgrimage now finds a home;
Among the mossy oaks now coos the dove,
And the hoarse crow finds softer notes for love.
The foxes play around their dens, and bark
In joy’s excess, ’mid woodland shadows dark.
The flowers join lips below; the leaves above;
And every sound that meets the ear is Love.