✨ Now shipping worldwide — from my little Devon studio to wherever you are

Is anyone out there?

Starting small, starting gently: my journey from teaching to clay, from breakdown to rebuilding, and from invisibility to connection — a quiet welcome into the studio and the stories that shape my work.

Sara — Sculpt Happy Studio

7/17/20266 min read

Polymer clay robin sculpture symbolising new beginnings, handmade at Sculpt Happy Studio.

If you’ve found your way here, welcome — I’m so pleased you are here.

Having built this website from scratch and having literally no clue what I am doing, it’s a marvel it’s ‘live’ at all. The fact you’ve navigated to this post is wonderful, and honestly, it gives me hope that something I’ve done has worked, and with a little bit of fairy ‘tech’ magic you’ve found me. I’m proud of this site — as a portfolio of the handmade products and bespoke workshops I offer, it’s ideal. But I can’t deny that one question I repeatedly ask myself is: “Will I be the only one ever to see it?”

It’s a familiar feeling. One of the most repeated sayings I’ve told myself this past year is: “Is anyone there? Or am I shouting into a void?”

As I sit at my laptop typing away in Hostinger — writing content, uploading pictures, making everything look “pretty” — I realise very quickly that building this site, and this business for that matter, is only the first small step. I might be scratching my head after hours upon hours of endless research, reading, watching YouTube videos and absorbing as much free AI tool support as I can, trying to work out the beginnings of coding… and coming to the conclusion that I may simply not be cut out for this. I’m still wondering whether SEO, meta descriptions and alt text aren’t just some elaborate joke by those in the tech world. And yet, here I am — stubbornly learning, stubbornly trying, stubbornly believing that showing up matters.

I’ve come to the conclusion that naivety definitely has to come into play when starting a journey like this. If you find yourself at that crossroads — seriously contemplating going out on your own, and sharing your ideas with the world — then you kind of have to embrace ignorance. Hold your head high, put one foot in front of the other and simply keep going, with that kind of dogged stubbornness of someone who absolutely believes, even when she doubts (and I do, a lot).

Because to run something, however small, completely by yourself and with little to no financial ‘pot’, you must be everything. And not just everything in some neat, organised timeline, but instead you’re wearing all the hats in a kind of haphazard way: creator, networker, marketer, accountant, salesperson, content creator… the list goes on. It’s exciting, educational, and exhausting. At least, that’s what I’ve found.

It wasn’t always like this though. Back in 2004 I’d just completed teacher training and was about to start my career, teaching art to teenage children in mainstream secondary schools. I was young, keen, and ready to impart my skills and knowledge. I quickly became settled into my department and made lasting friendships with colleagues across the creative areas of school and beyond.

Hard work, staying late, giving your all day in day out — it was par for the course, and something I can honestly say I loved. Teaching brings challenges you won’t often predict, and by its nature you juggle far more balls than you can physically carry, as you plan, deliver, problem solve, support, mark, and report — all while deeply caring for the young people you’re responsible for. It’s the most rewarding, emotionally draining, uplifting, earth shattering role I’ve ever had the privilege to do.

So no one was more shocked than me when in recent years panic attacks became my daily routine, my mental state collapsed and I suffered a breakdown. This changed everything — and it’s no small part of why I’m here now, authentically building something gentler, slower, and more rooted in creativity. I needed a different pace — a doorway into something calmer, slower, and more intentional.

Which brings me back to this moment — sitting here, building a website from scratch, wondering who might find their way to me and to this little creative corner of the internet.

I’ve been sculpting with clay since I was a child. Polymer clay — a wonderfully versatile material that anyone can use without specialist kit — has brought me many years of joy and, I make no apology for saying this, has literally saved my life. Sculpting forces me to slow down, to breathe. As my body has changed through menopause, and as I navigate rheumatoid arthritis, clay has become a way to quiet the noise — the pain, the overthinking, the imposter syndrome. It’s how I process, how I learn, how I find joy.

Nature has always inspired my work, but in recent years it’s been Archie’s wildlife photography that has shaped me most. His magic — the way he sees birds, light, movement — encourages me to step outside, explore, breathe, and notice. His images spark ideas, textures, colours, stories. This collaboration with my son is so special, and I am in awe of what he sees. We’re both driven by the same love of birds and wild places — a shared thread of inspiration that quietly connects us.

Launching a creative business and website is lonely. It’s hard. You don’t know what you don’t know. You can follow all the steps, be authentic, launch your site, go to events, post on social media, teach yourself video editing, create artistic reels to showcase the very art you want others to see, to find, to love… deliver workshops, build a collection of products — and yet suddenly discover you’re not reaching anyone. There’s that familiar void again.

You triple check all your website settings, redo everything to make it impactful… and eventually, exhausted, you fall on the sofa numb. What if everything you’ve built never gets discovered?

One thing is for sure: it doesn’t change my view of how much I needed to create, how important it was for me to sculpt, to find myself again. But I can’t deny that, in terms of the practical business side — the bread on the table bit — it’s been tough.

And yet, despite all the hurdles, all the doubt, all the invisibility and the soul crushing silence, I still say it’s worth it. Because for too many years, as I gave everything to teaching, I inevitably sacrificed myself and the development of my own clay journey. Teaching wasn’t the issue. Teaching gave me an alternative creativity, in how I helped others learn and love art. It was rewarding and fulfilling. But as I moved into management, I found toxicity and teaching art was taken from me, I therefore lost myself and that creativity.

For me, it’s through clay and creating that I breathe. It’s through making with my hands that I process and learn, and how I find joy and reward. So despite the harsh realities of setting out to create a business, I do not regret for one moment returning to my clay roots.

And while my numbers on social media won’t reflect the success I’ve had, behind the scenes is a different story. My local reach — the home ed families who found me and took a chance on me — has been the greatest gift. For the best part of a year they’ve visited week in, week out. I’m so proud of the children and their clay work, and so touched by the friendships I’ve been fortunate and blessed to form.

The local community has shown such kindness. Without places like The Community Waffle House (Axminster & Lyme), I’d never have dipped my toes into community work. Through networking with local businesses, CICs, charities, nature reserves and more, I’ve found an abundance of support that has allowed me to share my skills and create beautiful clay art that will be enjoyed by many in my local area. These people — adults, children, families, volunteers — carry their own stories into my workshops, and watching them flourish is one of the greatest joys of my life.

I am determined to keep going, keep building, keep sharing, keep teaching, and keep creating.

Starting a blog feels a little like opening the studio door and hoping someone wanders in. So here I am, opening it — letting in light, air, warmth. Without opening the door, how do you ever expect anyone to step in?

So, welcome. Make a cuppa, settle in, and join me as I share what’s growing, emerging, and taking shape here at Sculpt Happy Studio.

Imposter syndrome will always be there, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to give up. I’m here to stay, here to share, and my wish is that you’ll come along on this journey with me.

If you’re reading this, thank you. Truly. I’m glad you’re here. This is just the beginning.