Why I Make Ceramics
The Story Behind Batacan Ceramics
When I was a kid, I fell in love with a thermometer. Two bowls, one hot, one full of ice, and the small thrill of watching the mercury climb and drop. I'd sit for what felt like hours, moving it between the two, trying to understand how something as invisible as a change in temperature could make a thing move. I didn't have the words for it then, but I was already chasing the question I chase now: how does a small, careful change turn into something you can see and hold?
I'll be honest, writing about myself does not come naturally. My husband is a born extrovert who builds connections without trying, which is part of why I married him, and part of why I find that ease so fascinating. It's the thing I find hardest. My friend Ian suggested I write here instead of posting on social media, as a truer way to reach the people who care about this work. He was right. This space feels more like me. Thank you for being here while I figure it out, one post at a time.
So let me start at the beginning, because the finished pieces you see in the shop all trace back to the same place.
I'm a builder at heart. Endlessly curious, happiest with my hands in something, always a little delighted by whatever I discover along the way. I grew up in a time when that kind of discovery felt effortless. Mornings started with cereal, afternoons meant biking around until dinner, and the whole world was the neighborhood. No screens. Just sun, dirt, and friends. We learned by doing.
We learned responsibility early, too. When I was ten and my older brother was twelve, we made our own way across downtown Honolulu, from school to his choir practice, then caught the bus home together two hours later. Our mom trusted us to figure it out, and we did. Navigating those buses, keeping each other safe, finding the small rush of getting it right, taught me how to plan, trust the process, and take real pleasure in a simple win. Those memories are the blueprint for how I still make today: curious, hands-on, and glad for the little discoveries that show up along the way.
Which brings me to clay.
Ceramics is the grown-up version of that kid with the thermometer. I shape something soft with my hands, then I hand it over to the glaze, the heat, and the kiln, and a small, careful change becomes something you can hold. No two pieces come out exactly alike, and I've made peace with that. The imperfections are where the making shows. Every mug, bowl, and jar I make by hand in my small El Cerrito studio carries the thing that shaped it: a builder's curiosity, and the quiet joy of watching a little change turn into something real.
That's what I want you to know as you follow along. You're not just seeing a finished object. You're seeing where it came from. And if you've ever lost an afternoon to figuring out how something works, I think you'll feel right at home here.
Explore the current pieces in the shop
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