When someone comes to Garlic Pottery looking for a pet urn, they're usually in one of the hardest moments they'll face. The last thing they should receive is something that feels mass-produced or anonymous. So I thought it was worth pulling back the curtain and showing exactly what goes into making every single urn — because understanding the process is, I think, part of what makes it meaningful.
Every urn you see in the shop has been made entirely by hand, from start to finish, in my studio here in Cheltenham. Here's how it happens.
Step 1: Starting at the Wheel
It all begins with a lump of raw clay and a wheel. I centre and open each piece by hand — there are no moulds, no shortcuts, no two pieces ever quite identical. The shape of each urn emerges slowly, guided as much by feel as by intention. That's simply what hand-throwing means: every piece carries the maker's touch from the very first moment.
This is also where size is determined. I make three sizes — small, medium and large — suited to different pet weights. If your pet falls outside the standard range, I can work to custom dimensions too. The FAQ page has a simple sizing guide, or feel free to get in touch and I'll help you figure it out.
Step 2: Shaping, Drying and the First Firing
Once thrown, each urn is left to dry slowly and evenly. Rushing this stage causes cracking, so patience here is non-negotiable. When the clay reaches the right stage — firm enough to handle but not yet dry — I trim and refine the form, shape the lid, and fit it to the body.
The piece then goes through its first kiln firing, which transforms the raw clay into hard bisqueware, ready for decoration. This alone takes days. It's part of why each urn takes up to three weeks from order to dispatch — not because I'm slow, but because the clay has its own timeline, and I'm not willing to rush it.
Step 3: Stamping the Name into the Clay
One of the most important steps — and one that people don't always know about — happens while the clay is still leather-hard, before the first firing. This is when I stamp each pet's name directly into the clay itself.
It sounds simple, but getting the letters level, evenly spaced and cleanly pressed takes real practice. My hands are usually well and truly covered in clay at this point. But there's something quietly significant about this step — the name becomes part of the urn rather than added to it afterwards. It's pressed into the material, permanent from the very beginning.
Step 4: Hand-Painting and Decoration
Once the urn has been through its first firing, I paint it by hand. The designs vary — daisies, forget-me-nots, cherry blossom, poppies, roses, silhouettes, paw prints — whatever feels right for the pet being remembered. Some orders come with a specific design in mind; others give me freedom to choose, which I love.
Any additional personalisation — dates, a short phrase, a few words chosen by the family — is painted on at this stage too. "Forever Loved", "Good Girl", "Always in Our Hearts". Reading these back as I paint them, knowing what they mean to the person waiting for the piece, is something I don't take lightly.
You can choose your design and personalisation details directly when ordering from the shop. If you have something specific in mind that you don't see listed, just get in touch and we can talk it through.
Step 5: Glazing and the Final Firing
Why It Takes the Time It Takes
From first throw to front door, each urn represents many quiet hours of work spread across multiple days. The clay needs time to dry. The kiln needs time to do its job properly, twice over. The painting and personalisation are done by hand, one piece at a time.
I mention this not as a disclaimer, but because I think it matters. When something is made this way — slowly, carefully, by one person — it's a fundamentally different object to something produced at scale. That difference is the whole point.
Custom and Bespoke Orders
Some of the most meaningful pieces I've made have been fully custom — designed around a specific pet, a favourite flower, a breed, a colour scheme, or a memory the family wanted to capture. I've painted bluebell woods, golden retrievers mid-run, cats curled in their favourite spot. I've also made lids topped with a sculpted version of a pet's favourite ball — a small detail that somehow says everything.
If you have something particular in mind, please get in touch. I'll always do my best to bring it to life.