For ceramicist Melody Emi Brunton, working with clay is an ongoing exercise in curiosity, experimentation and time. Pieces are thrown, fired, glazed and fired again. Materials change state, experiments don’t always work and sometimes the only thing to do is return to the wheel and begin again. It’s a practice shaped by repetition and learning, making it a natural expression of Slow Burn, our Spring ’26 exploration of the things shaped gradually over time.
With a selection of Melody’s ceramics now installed in our Mosman boutique window, we visited her studio to talk about material intelligence, learning through mistakes and the processes that can’t be hurried.
Could you introduce yourself and tell us a little bit about your practice?
My name is Melody Emi Brunton. My mum was very intentional about giving my sister and me Japanese middle names because of her Japanese background, so that’s where Emi Ceramics comes from. I’m a ceramicist, but I also think of myself as a teacher and educator. I love facilitating community events and creating spaces where people can get to know each other.
How did you find your way to ceramics?
I was studying interior and spatial design and finding it challenging because so much of it was computer-oriented. I started pottery alongside that, and it became a respite. I think it really clicked when I bought my first wheel. It gave me somewhere to show up and really practice.
What draws you to working with clay?
As I’ve learnt more about the material, I’ve become really interested in what they call material intelligence – the mineral makeup of clay, where it comes from, how it forms and how locality changes it. What’s the difference between a Japanese clay, a Korean clay and an Australian clay? There’s also so much chemistry involved in glaze-making. I think that meeting of science and art is what I find so beautiful about ceramics. It’s also led me to become really interested in geology – the formation of clay, rocks and the history held within a material. I’ll find myself looking at the ground or at cliffsides wondering what something is and how long it’s been there.
How do you approach the process of making?
Ceramics asks you to show up, be okay with failing and be humbled by not knowing. There’s always more to learn, and I think there’s something rewarding in accepting that. You can go through making the form, bisque firing, glazing and firing again, and sometimes it still doesn’t work out. You assess what happened and show back up at the wheel. There’s also a lot of waiting involved. I’ve explored wood firing, where one firing took 32 hours of stoking the wood, followed by another two days waiting for the kiln to cool.
Has working with clay changed the way you think about time?
Absolutely. This idea of “the natural order of things” comes up a lot for me. Clay brings me back to that natural order – to the idea that some things simply take time. It might take two hours to throw a couple of pieces you’re happy with, and working that way has taught me to give things more time and space. I also think we expect to see results quickly, but that isn’t always how things work. Sometimes the impact of what you do only becomes clear much later – maybe through someone you’ve taught, or in ways you don’t get to see straight away.
What have you been reading, listening to or looking at recently?
I went to a concert recently by Hamed Sadeghi with an eight-piece band, and there’s a lot of his Iranian influence in the music. I’ve also been listening to Mutsafa. His album Dunya is really beautiful and delves into the relationship with the divine. My friend Shana Chandra has also written a book called Banjara, which is about her background as a Fijian Indian. I think the through line between all those artists is the cultural background they bring to their work and how it informs the art they’ve made.
Do you feel like you pull from your own cultural background in a similar way?
Yeah, absolutely. I was born and raised in Sydney, but my mum’s side of the family is Japanese, and my dad’s side is from New Zealand. They’re both island countries, and I think that connection to water and the coast has always stayed with me. We travelled to Japan a lot growing up, so I was exposed early to everyday rituals. You take your shoes off before you enter the house, you have a shrine at home, you pray and burn incense as an offering. There’s also a real appreciation for objects, from tableware to a single vase at a shrine. I think I absorbed that sense of restraint and serenity quite naturally.
Could you tell us about your studio?
My studio is in my garage, so it’s separate enough but still close by. Ceramics is a little like sourdough – it needs to be attended to at particular times – so having that proximity is really lovely.
If someone spent a day with you in your studio, what do you think they would notice that might otherwise go unseen?
Maybe that wheel throwing is only one part of the process. So much time is spent in preparation before you even get there – recycling, wedging and measuring the clay. There are materials everywhere too. I have buckets and buckets, and a cupboard filled with powders, copper, cobalt, titanium. It almost looks like an apothecary.
How are you spending your time as the weather warms up for spring?
Mount Annan Botanic Garden is nearby, so I’ve been spending evenings there. The paper daisies are in full bloom, and I love noticing the different birds and plants as the season changes. I’ve also been getting back to the beach for swims, especially Wombarra Beach. It has these beautiful pebbles that make a rain-like sound when the waves crash over them. I’m also heading up to Lightning Ridge to fossick for opals, and I’m looking forward to more camping as spring and summer come in.
