"How long do these take to make then"?
That is not easy to give a simple answer to. The most tempting answer is that it has taken a lifetime, but that is a cliche shared amongst potters and is way too flippant to dispense lightly.
Making pots is a multi process event with long periods of slow drying; multiple firings and it's a continual process interrupted by sleep and doing other stuff: Start a pot, leave it to stiffen up, add a bit more clay, repeat, let it dry partially and scrape it, modify the shape, leave it and think about it. If the shape is ok, let it dry slowly before bisque firing and that is only the half way stage.
It is true that it takes a long time to master the skills and gain knowledge, like any other art form it takes practice. You don't become a concert pianist without practice every day.
Ben Boswell came to take some photographs of me working, that was during September 2015. I was making two large bowls, and I started them the day before. They took a long time to dry, with bits of plastic and scrim on the rims otherwise the bowls would warp. They didn't get bisque fired until the end of December, due to lack of kiln space. They were glazed and set aside to fire in Mark Griffiths' new wood kiln, but that event was put back several times, finally the firing took place in June 2016. There was some wadding stuck to the bottom of the foot and it was another few weeks before I plucked up the courage to pick up a Dremel and grind it off.
So the first suitable event, where I had the space and a need to make a positive statement was Ceramic Art York in September, so that's a whole year.
They both sold almost immediately, so you have to ask why I messed around for so long.
Making pots purely judged by the clock is not something I set out to achieve. It's no problem to take my time, it's about getting it right that matters, neither is making large quantities a criteria. In fact I make relatively few compared to some who make their pots at the wheel. I can't fire the wood kiln until there are enough pots to fill it, so I only fire the kiln about every three months and during January and February I have learnt not to bother.
It's cold, grim and grey today, the rain hasn't let up at all. I'm in my little workshop waiting for a couple of pots to dry a little so that I can do a bit more. Stuck in my hermetic bubble, with nothing beyond the gloom through the window to distract, I'm happy with my thoughts and my own company and happy to take as long as necessary.
But if pressed for an answer to the question, I will usually say "Just a few days".