Chasing Lichen in Enamel

There’s something about lichen that keeps pulling me back.

Not the obvious kind—the bright chartreuse patches you notice right away—but the quieter ones. The soft, layered growth that blends into bark and stone. The kind you only really see when you slow down.

That’s what I’ve been trying to capture in enamel for the past few years.

And if I’m being honest… it hasn’t been easy.

Enamel has a mind of its own. You can guide it, layer it, fire it again and again—but there’s always that moment when it comes out of the kiln and decides what it wants to be. Sometimes it’s beautiful. Sometimes it’s completely wrong. Most of the time, it’s somewhere in between.

Lichen, though? Lichen is subtle.

It’s not just color—it’s depth. It’s softness mixed with texture. It’s those tiny organic patterns that don’t repeat, that don’t follow rules, that feel like they just happened over time.

That’s the part I’ve been chasing.

This Last Batch

This most recent batch is the closest I’ve come.

There’s a softness in the color transitions that wasn’t there before. The greens finally feel grounded instead of flat. And those little cellular patterns—those quiet, almost-missed details—they’re starting to show up in a way that feels real.

Not perfect.

But real.

And honestly, that matters more.

Because lichen isn’t perfect. It’s irregular. A little unpredictable. It grows where it wants, how it wants. And the more I work with enamel, the more I realize… maybe that’s the point.

Letting Go (Just a Little)

For a long time, I think I was trying to control the outcome too much.

Trying to “make” enamel look like lichen.

But this batch felt different. I leaned into the process a bit more. Let the layers build naturally. Let the kiln do its thing instead of fighting it.

And something shifted.

Not a huge, dramatic breakthrough—but a quiet one.

The kind where you step back and think, okay… now we’re getting somewhere.

Still Not Quite There

I’m not calling it finished. Not yet.

There’s still something I’m reaching for—a little more depth, maybe. A little more variation. That slightly weathered, almost velvety quality that lichen has when you see it up close.

But this?

This feels like a turning point.

Why It Matters

This is one of the things I love most about working this way.

Nothing is rushed. Nothing is mass-produced. Every design evolves over time—sometimes slowly, sometimes stubbornly—but always with intention.

And when something finally clicks, even just a little?

It makes all those “not quite right” pieces worth it.

I’ll keep going.

But for now, I’m pretty happy standing right here—in that space between almost and there.