In The Studio with Justin Hoffman

At the foot of a flight of steps, two of Justin Hoffman’s ceramic vessels sit on the ground welcoming us into his studio and home in Walnut Creek. The first is squat and bulbous, marked with bold black painted lines, the other, simpler and earthier. The kind of objects that you end up living with when your work life is a natural extension of your home.

The house itself is a warm-toned timber structure that rises in sections up a wooded hillside. Walnut Creek is just east of San Francisco, all bucolic hills and greenery. It’s shaded by oak trees and bay laurel and almost disappearing into the canopy. Behind the house, a seemingly expanse of fragrant Northern California vegetation.

Justin meets us on the deck and shows us into his studio space. It was the house itself that brought him out to Walnut Creek from Berkeley, where he’d been living before. He’s been out here for a few years now, living and making. “If it wasn’t for this space, I don’t think I’d be staying all the way out in Walnut Creek,” he says laughing, but its a beautiful place to find oneself in. “Every single night you get an incredible sunset here. And then after the sun sets, the fog comes in and rolls up the hill, and you’re just engulfed in it for the whole night. Taking walks at night, it’s just like you’re in another world.”

“After the sun sets, the fog comes in and rolls up the hill, and you’re just engulfed in it for the whole night. It’s like you’re in another world.”

The studio is tucked away under the main living spaces of the house, and is overflowing with Justin’s work. Shelves full of pieces he’s finished, a work bench for those having their finishing touches applied. They jostle for space with Japanese ceramics, folk pottery, sculpture, that he’s collected from his travels and which form an immersive archive of inspiration. Justin describes it as a kind of space where he can be “constantly inspired by everything around me.”

Outside, in a corner of the garden hidden away behind a fence, is what he calls the graveyard: a low patch of ground where the rejects end up. Cracked rims, collapsed forms, pieces that came out of the kiln wrong or simply didn’t meet the standard he sets for himself. He is unsentimental about it. Things that don’t work get sent out there.
The garden is otherwise left largely to its own devices, deer move through regularly, greedily working their way through the landscape. There is a tree near the back, he tells us, with red berries that the robins wait for all year; when the berries reach peak ripeness the birds descend and get drunk on the naturally fermenting fruit. “There were just birds flying everywhere,” he says. “It’s quite something. It happens every year.”

“One day I touched clay for the first time, and I never went back to painting. Something just clicked. It felt so primal.”

Inside, the house has the cloistered feel of a Zen retreat, all warm wood panelling, a Japanese hanging scroll on one wall, a bunch of white orchids on the windowsill catching the sunlight, coming in through the trees. Justin came to ceramics from painting, when painting, eventually, stopped being enough. “I wanted to work in a more three-dimensional medium,” he says. “I’ve always loved working with my hands, and had always had a passion for sculpture.”

“Then one day I touched clay for the first time,” he says of his artistic conversion. “And I never went back to painting. Something just clicked. It felt so primal.” He is eight years into his ceramics practice now, but something of the painter remains. “I kind of treat each piece as a blank canvas,” he says. “I approach it like that.”

He works entirely by hand, building his forms using the coil method without a wheel. Each piece is one of a kind. He does not, he says, have any plan when making things; the work comes when it comes, driven by mood and material and the delicate foibles of inspiration. “Most days I let the clay guide me,” he says. “Unless I’m creating a specific collection for an exhibition or a gallery, I like to work very free and loose. Sometimes my best work comes from that space of freedom.” The range of what emerges from this approach is part of what makes the studio so alive: there are squat, primitive vessels with rough, textured surfaces in the pale beige tones of raw California stoneware; taller, more architectural forms marked with clean bands of glaze in black and cream; pieces that bridge the two impulses. They are appended with abstract shapes and forms, painted and glazed, full of little marks of inspiration and detail.

“Most days I let the clay guide me. My best work comes from that space of freedom.”

The clay itself is, increasingly, sourced from the land. Hoffman has spent years trying to replicate the particular qualities of the Japanese ceramic tradition in Northern California. He often goes to the Sierra Nevada mountains and digs his own wild clay, blending it himself, working towards something that carries that elemental character.

Japan, more broadly, is the central reference point. Justin makes multiple trips there, in search of inspiration and objects for his collection, and has worked and collaborated with many artisans there. “All my trips to Japan really influenced my work,” he explains. “I've been invited to participate in some wood firings out there under a couple of master potters, and that's been an incredible experience. I just can't get enough, the food, the fashion, the culture, the art, the inspiration. That's where I would like to live full time if I could."

There is a lot coming up. This month, some of his work travels to Palm Springs for a show at Modern Week. He’s also preparing for a solo exhibition on the East Coast, in late spring. He describes the accumulation of commitments with a characteristic mixture of enthusiasm and mild dread. “I’m an introverted guy, I really have to dig deep within me to put on a bit of a performance at these galas and openings,” he says, and you get the sense he’s happiest here, out in Walnut Creek, busy crafting and working by hand, searching for inspiration in the feel of the clay.