My inspiration has always been the beautiful nature surrounding me regardless of what I'm creating. In my making journey, pottery is my primary focus and my Ikigai (a reason for being). Following the principles of Wabi-Sabi, where we are encouraged to find beauty in imperfection and accept the more natural cycle of life, my nature-inspired handmade pottery is functional, ethical and has a low environmental impact. Made in small batches in my home studio, I craft each piece with love and curate every workshop with devotion – from my hands to your heart and home.

When it comes to plants, I’m pretty obsessed. I have over a hundred pot plants, both indoors and out. And there is my glorious micro flower farm. It has incredible seasonal interest, but in our cool climate (Zone 9B), it really sings during spring and summer. In the cooler months, I love making terrariums; it gives me that hit of gardening without gardening. The little farmyard is always filled with something interesting to find and forage, but in a cool climate (Zone 9B) like this, spring and summer are the garden’s time to shine. I host quaint foraging workshops where you can find treasures and create something beautiful for your home.

In my paintings, I mainly use watercolour, but I am also experimenting with digital forms and loving them (I designed my entire children’s book Grateful this way). My subjects are predominantly what’s growing in my garden or the changing seasons—I am forever chasing that seasonal beauty. So, these fleeting but precious moments are captured in my photography, too.

Regardless of what I’m making, know that every one of my creations has a piece of my soul embedded in it, and I sincerely hope they bring you as much joy as they have brought me making them for you.

Now for a bit of background: As I mentioned, I live in an old country town on the outskirts of regional NSW, near the nation’s capital — on Ngunnawal and Ngambri Country. To me, it’s serenity – she gets me. But before I called Australia home, my heart belonged to another, Bangladesh. I took my first breath across the sea, about ten thousand kilometres away and almost four decades ago in a concrete jungle. This tiny, fertile country in southern Asia is surrounded by the largest river deltas and cradled by magnificent mangroves, which I was utterly oblivious to until I was about six when we visited our hometown in the countryside of Podamdi. I hold my most profound connection with my culture in that village. I always recall the same memory...

I am running past the courtyard of our family home, and my family is following close by. The pigeons are starting to coo, and my dadu (paternal grandmother) is making pitha (winter sweets) on a clay-moulded stove with some help – the smell of wood burning and that hint of sweet treat filled the fresh morning air. I make my way through the sugarcane fields, a forest full of mango and jackfruit trees scattered with patches of palm and bamboo. Feeling like I’ve stepped back in time, I stop and find myself in a clearing with a cluster of little clay and straw huts, where all the local farmers live in harmony.

The villagers invite us to share tea. It’s late monsoon season, and the rain starts to pour. We take shelter in one of the larger huts. I look around; it’s unlike any other house I’ve ever been to. For starters, there were no rooms. There were no doors or windows either, just large openings carefully maintained to make sure there were no cracks in the clay. There were mud walls, floor and even some built-in furniture. On the floor, there are beautifully laid hand-stitched nakshi kantha (traditional tapestries and blankets) with scenes of old tales for future generations. There was so much beauty in the simplicity of the village that you couldn’t help but get cosy. Tea was served in the most exquisite terracotta tea set that, even then I knew, was only brought out for special visitors. Overwhelmed with gratitude, I take my handle-less teacup and sit on the floor on a pretty nakshi kantha.

I sit by the large window opening, clasping my sweet hot tea with both hands. A little old lady greets me with a lovely little blanket, which she places on my bare knees. I smile and thank her. The gorgeous pattern set in red and black stitches against the white cotton reminded me of the blanket my nanu (maternal grandmother) made, sitting patiently on mum’s bed back home, awaiting our return.

I look out the window to watch the rain. The wood in the communal outdoor stove has begun to smoke. Through it, across the courtyard, I see her. She was sitting entirely still by the window of a smaller hut while her long, ebony hair danced with the breeze.

With a similar blanket to keep her cosy, she has a half-read book in one hand and a clay teacup in the other. As the raindrops kiss her tanned skin, it glistens like tiny specks of diamonds. The nameless girl was the perfect vision of self-care and joy all wrapped in one.

This sweet memory is forever locked in time and eventually became the foundation of Whistle & Page.

All my handcrafted pieces are inspired by the charming Podamdi. I mainly use neutral tones and natural materials to capture the true meaning of comfort and calm.

Welcome! I hope you enjoy your visit and find something extraordinary that fills your heart with delight.