Our landscape doesn’t offer up traditional clay. The geology here is too wild, too ancient — all fractured stone and Highland fault lines. But nature, in its slow wisdom, left us something else.
A gift from the glaciers.
Scattered across the land, packed into low folds and riverbanks, lies glacial till — a dense mix of finely ground stone and mineral-rich dust left behind by the last ice age.
It’s not quite clay, not in the classic sense. But for those willing to experiment, it’s full of potential.
We gather this material by hand and process it into a fine, silty powder. It’s not plastic like true clay, but it carries a quiet kind of alchemy. With just a touch of flux and a careful balance of elements, it melts in the kiln into something remarkable.
We call it Driftstone — a satin-smooth glaze that fires to a rich chocolate brown, soft to the eye and silky to the touch. It’s a finish that speaks not just of process, but of place. Of time. Of pressure. Of what was left behind when the ice retreated.
Driftstone isn’t limited to glaze, either. We use it in clay bodies as well, where it lends depth, warmth, and a Highland soul to each piece.
It’s a humble material, easily overlooked. But in our hands, it becomes a signature — a quiet collaboration with ancient geology.
Just like everything we use, it’s gathered with care:
• No mining
• No freight
• No distant suppliers
Just us, a spade, and the patient rhythm of the land.