Potter. Psychologist. Maker of slightly wonky things.
I’m Suzanne. I’m a registered psychologist with more than 25 years’ experience, and I’m also a potter who has made more lopsided bowls than she’d care to count. Unruly Clay is where those two things overlap.
How a psychologist ended up covered in clay.
I came to clay the way a lot of overthinkers do: looking for something that would make my hands busy enough for my head to go quiet.
It worked better than I expected — and not because pottery was particularly relaxing.
Clay pushes back. The rim goes wonky. The handle sags. The cow comes out of the firing looking like it has seen things. And somewhere in the middle of all that, you get to notice what happens when something isn’t going according to plan.
After years as a psychologist, I recognised the territory immediately: perfectionism, frustration, self-criticism, attention, uncertainty and that remarkably human urge to decide we’ve failed before we’ve actually finished.
Clay gives you somewhere wonderfully low-stakes to practise doing something different.
Keep going. Change the plan. Squish it and start again. Leave the wonky bit alone. Discover that imperfect things can still be rather fabulous.
That’s where Unruly Clay came from.
Not from wanting to teach people the “right” way to make pottery, but from wanting to create a gentler way into making — particularly for people who overthink, expect themselves to be good at things immediately, or have spent so long being competent that being a beginner feels mildly horrifying.
Simple handbuilding. Interesting projects. A bit of psychology in the background. And considerably less concern about whether your pot is symmetrical.
handbuilt. imperfect. slightly feral. same as the rest of us.
Psychology-informed. Clay-led.
My background as a psychologist shapes how I design Unruly Clay — particularly the way I think about attention, perfectionism, self-criticism, emotional regulation and what happens when adults try something they’re not immediately good at.
But the clay comes first.
The projects are designed to be absorbing without demanding perfection. Instructions are clear, experimentation is encouraged, and mistakes are treated as part of making rather than evidence that you shouldn’t be doing it.
At Unruly Clay
Here I make pottery and help other people make it too — with a little more curiosity and a little less self-criticism.
- Self-paced courses and short classes (in the works)
- Mindful and psychology-informed clay projects
- Guides, templates and project packs (the first ones landing soon)
- Occasional in-person workshops
- And, inevitably, the odd Highland cow
There’s more going on than making a pot.
There may be something particularly useful about working with a material that asks for your attention, gives immediate feedback and doesn’t require you to put everything into words.
Research specifically on clay is still relatively small, but studies have found short-term reductions in anxiety and negative mood after clay work, including controlled studies comparing clay with other activities. Broader research into craft and creative activity also points to benefits for stress, mood and wellbeing.
The research into emotional regulation and clay is still emerging, so I’m not going to tell you that pottery “rewires your brain” or magically regulates your nervous system. That’s not where the evidence is.
What interests me is something both simpler and more useful: making things with our hands can change how we feel while we’re doing it.
Clay is particularly interesting because it is tactile, three-dimensional and responsive. It pushes back. You can alter it, repair it, flatten it and begin again.
Those qualities make clay a rather good place to practise attention, experimentation and tolerating imperfection — while the research into exactly why it may be helpful continues to develop.
What the research suggests
- Short-term reductions in anxiety and negative mood have been found in several clay studies.
- Broader craft research points to improvements in mood, stress and wellbeing.
- Sensory engagement, absorption, flow and attentional focus are plausible mechanisms.
What we don’t know yet
- The clay-specific evidence base is still relatively small.
- Longer-term effects are not well established.
- Claims about vagal activation, “nervous system resetting” or brain rewiring go beyond the evidence.
Online everywhere. In person, occasionally.
Most of Unruly Clay happens on a screen and a table of your choosing. A few times a year it happens in a room on the Sunshine Coast, Queensland.
Learn online
The Mindful Clay course and short recordings like Clay Reset, all self-paced, all made for beginners and overthinkers. No wheel or studio required, and no kiln of your own: each project says whether it suits kiln-fired clay, air-dry clay or both.
CoursesMake something unruly
Standalone projects, printable templates and mini-classes. Highland cows, pinch pots, textured bowls, the wonky mug.
ProjectsCome to a workshop
Occasional small-group pottery workshops on the Sunshine Coast — public dates, private groups and mobile sessions.
WorkshopsThe Unruly Clay position, in seven lines.
- Imperfection is part of creativity, not a failure of it.
- Handmade things should have character. Fingerprints count.
- You don’t need to be artistic. You need to be willing.
- Making things with your hands matters more than it looks like it should.
- Slow is not a flaw in the process. Slow is the process.
- Humour belongs in the studio, especially when the cow comes out odd.
- Perfection is terribly overrated.
The Scottish connection — and the cow problem
I was born in the Scottish Borders, with family roots stretching west to the Hebrides — the same part of the world Highland cows call home.
Somewhere along the way, Highland cows became the unofficial mascot of Unruly Clay. They’re shaggy, sturdy, full of character and completely themselves — which feels like a pretty good fit.
I started making one. Then another. Then apparently developed a herd.
No two ever turn out the same. Somewhere in the making, each one seems to develop its own expression, attitude and personality. That feels very Unruly Clay — start with the same basic idea, then let the clay have a say in what happens next.
Meet the herd →Questions, cows, collaborations.
Want to ask about a project, book a private workshop, or find out whether a particular cow is spoken for? Email is best. I answer in person, eventually, usually with clay on my hands.
Start with something small.
A pinch pot. A questionable cow. Forty minutes without your phone. You don’t have to be good at it. You just have to start.
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