Ine Vik is a child of the earth. At least that is what I imagine. One who roamed about with dirty knees and a stick as a child, conversing with plants and animals. She pursued her interest in nature by studying biology at the Norwegian University of Life Sciences, where she earned her bachelor's degree. However, the allure of clay eventually drew her away from academia and into the world of ceramics. Here, everything seemed to converge profoundly — balancing dynamics and calm, earth and spirit, academia and art.

Vik was captivated by wood-fired ceramics, which is both a niche and a lifestyle. This technique requires a combination of physics, collaboration between peers, and an appreciation for aesthetics. Her ceramic language has a preference for simple, often rounded shapes, exploring complexity in the rich glazes and the wood-firing method instead. The expressive and burnt nuances that come from wood-firing are vital to her practice. Each firing in the kiln brings a sense of mystery and excitement, filled with anticipation and joy. The process requires vigilance for hours, and this care reflects the outcome.

Vik prefers to use materials sourced directly from the earth, often digging for local clay. She also incorporates seaweed, ash, and other locally sourced materials into her glazes. Though when wood-firing, she typically uses stoneware or porcelain. Her practice is rooted in a close connection to earth and its materials, embracing a sustainable and experimental approach that fluidly transitions between ceramics and visual art.

I asked her a few questions...

As a younger ceramicist, why are you drawn to what some people call "old man's ceramics"?

‘Perhaps it was partly due to my biology studies that led me to ceramics. Wood-firing is resource-intensive, and although the technique can be applied in many ways, it often attracts ceramicists with an interest in history or fundamental technical principles. I appreciated that entry point and the combination of technical rigour with the inherently dynamic nature of wood-firing. It's a relatively small community here in Norway, and as a young or inexperienced practitioner, you often find yourself in a humble position.

That's also a part of the appeal: visiting others, observing different approaches, getting involved and learning through a kind of apprenticeship. At any rate, it was a refreshing change from university! But really, I was just as taken with what I saw. The colours felt inevitable. Pale greens, the yellow ash markings, deep well browns, and apricot airbrush! And I like the principle of simplicity, because that's how wood-firing feels to me, even though it's not simple at all.’

What is it about the nuances of brown that fascinates you?

‘There are so many kind, brown things! Wood, soil, leather, and stone. Nature is quite brown, and sometimes the city is too. Physiologically, brown provides weak stimulation for the eye's receptors. Brown objects are almost like camouflage, like a soft launch. Yet, brown isn't a fundamental colour: it doesn't appear in the rainbow and is merely a mix of the spectral colours, arising when certain warm tones are combined at low luminance. For a colour to read as brown rather than just dark orange, it needs to be set against lighter colours. That's why it always depends on its surroundings. I don't have anything profound to say about brown, but that's exactly its charm.’

In your practice, you create both paintings and functional ceramics. How do the two different aspects complement each other?

‘I have always appreciated the periods where art was an integral part of architecture, and I would love to see more frescoes, tapestries, and stained glass! In these art forms, there is a kind of transition between fine art and craft that I value. I tend to see paintings and ceramics as objects that can play different roles within a space, and they are welcome to be a part of it – by producing sound, serving as a window outward, changing the acoustics, and inviting people in.’

Is sustainability a fundamental part of your practice?

‘Yes — but sometimes it feels as if I'm just adding more weight to the world. Is sustainability even compatible with making new things? I struggle with that question. I find it difficult to accept the idea of simply giving up the work, because creating is fundamental for us, and the world would be a poorer place without it. I am aware that clay can never return to its natural state once it has been fired, and I take measures to limit material use, discarding very little. I try to be strict and only fire work that I am sure will move forward. But one has to practice to become skilled, and the path toward a focused practice is littered with missteps (at least for me)! I have no solution to the paradox, but I hope that craft can connect the user to material. Kind of like when you walk through a museum and see potsherds and socks in decay in a display case. They remind you that an object can hold a lot. Not that I think this should be a requirement. But it is a potential function.’

Does clay evoke a sense of home for you?

‘To me, clay is more like soil or sediment, so maybe everyone's home, then. Home for me is a place that has the potential to evoke the feeling of being allowed to fall asleep on the couch as a child while there were still guests in the room.’