Liam Curtin was born in Liverpool in 1951. Since 1973, he has worked as a teacher, potter, artist and curator.
In 1984, he co-founded Majolica Works, a small team of potters producing decorative tin-glazed earthenware. Their work has been widely exhibited across Europe and the United States.
Since 1994, Liam has created both permanent and temporary public artworks throughout Britain. More recently, he has returned to pottery and now works from his home studio in Manchester.
He is currently planning an exhibition of recent work, which will open in spring 2027.
Returning to Pottery
Earth, Air, Fire and Water
On a cold day in 2025, as the news from around the world grew increasingly dark – with wars raging in many places, genocide, deepening poverty, devastating climate change and countless acts of injustice and inhumanity – I felt there was so little I could do to change things. So, I went to the studio to do something I had been doing for more than 50 years: make pots.
The clay was cold and uninviting, but as I made the first pots of the day, I realised that at least I was doing no harm. Pottery has a humanity built into it, partly because it is an age-old activity, using techniques that have existed for millennia, but also because it brings us into direct contact with the elements: earth, air, fire and water.
I recalled something the great pioneering potter Michael Cardew once said: “Pots are like people and people are like pots. They have a lip, a neck, a shoulder, a belly, a waist and a foot.” With this in mind, I began making this classic form, found throughout history and across the world. The traditional shape not only echoes the human figure but is also strong enough to withstand the extreme heat of the kiln and, in use, to contain grain, wine and much more.
After 50 years of making pots, I discovered something else: clay has a kind of desire to “fall” into a shape. It is best not to force it, but to follow its natural flow – a kind of collaboration between the human hand and the earth. I began to enjoy the process, and at least I was doing no harm.
I set myself a brief: to make the pots I wanted to make. Not ordered, not commissioned and not shaped by what I thought people might like – simply what I felt like making. It proved a far more difficult brief.
I am now preparing pots for an exhibition in spring 2027.
Temporary Art Installations
In some ways, I prefer these projects. They carry less responsibility than permanent works and can often be achieved without the need for engineers or tedious bureaucracy. It is also rewarding to work with a community and make something together. Giving people an insight into the process of making art can be a hugely bonding experience – and it is often relatively inexpensive.
On occasion, I have used temporary art projects as a way of getting to know a consultation group before developing a permanent piece. The temporary work does not need to relate directly to the final artwork. It is an indirect approach that allows the artist to get to know the group and earn their trust. Conversations emerge that might never arise through formal consultation.
It is not a matter of asking people what they want. Rather, it is a process of listening to their concerns and, through participation, guiding the project towards a conclusion that fulfils them and, in some cases, surprises them. Consultation is not about including everyone’s idea; the artist must remain the creator – hence the element of surprise.
For example, long before The Meccano Bridge was conceived, we created a floating sculpture: a boat made from thousands of CDs donated by local people. Members of the community then came to the canal side to stitch them together into sheets resembling chainmail.
During the project, I met local residents and their families, as well as volunteers from the local Canal Society. After having such fun together, it became easy to talk about and discuss the nature of a permanent artwork. However, no one was expecting a giant Meccano bridge – an idea they readily embraced.
Three years later, they and others came together to assemble the giant Meccano pieces, which had been made in a local factory. Their sense of ownership of the finished work was complete.
Liam
