A studio in the countryside - a heart that beats to the rhythm of nature
Moving from the city to the countryside isn't an escape; it's a decision for a different pace, a different rhythm, a different way of listening to oneself. Instead of the hum of the streets and a calendar divided into squares, there's the smell of wet earth, a light that changes not according to meetings, but according to the time of day. This is the story of how we chose Gąski near Warka, and of the paths that can lead further for those who also feel it's time to start breathing more fully.
The City: Density and Dispersion
The city teaches efficiency. Elevators, office buildings, quick lunches between emails. Everything is accessible: late-night cafes, one-click deliveries, anytime rides. And yet, the more things are at your fingertips, the more often the most important things slip through your fingers.
Days are shattered: commute, stand-up, status, deadlines. Windows become screens, and screens become views of the world. Our heads are full, our hands empty. We create presentations, but rarely create objects. A quiet longing grows within: for the "tangible," for work that leaves a mark not only in the cloud but also on the table, in our hands, in our muscle memory.
The Countryside: Space, Rhythm and Consistency
The countryside doesn't offer ready-made solutions. It offers space and a request to fill it. Here, time is held together by mornings, birds, and the rhythm of people working, who know that every tree has its moment. Silence is not empty: it carries answers if one learns to listen.
It's a world where humanity cedes some control to nature and in return receives coherence : the materials are "of this earth," the work is concrete, and you hold the result in your hands. The measure of success also changes: not how many emails you send, but whether the dish came out of the oven exactly as it was intended.
Our route: from Warsaw to Gąski
We bought a farm forty kilometers from Warsaw . It had old orchards, a house in need of renovation, and a former forge that was silently begging us to breathe new life into it. We renovated the house, and Ania and I set up a workshop in the forge.
Before clay became our everyday life, there were a few twists and turns. I styled old furniture, painting it with chalk paint for clients whose interiors I designed. Then came carpentry, apprenticeships with artists, sculptors, and cabinetmakers. I loved the smell of wood and the rhythm of tools, but my heart pointed elsewhere.
Ceramics. First, two-week trips to the Beskid Niski Mountains , returning six times to learn the art of handcraft over and over again. Then, two years of ceramics school , patient study, and a kiln that asks questions without words. In the meantime, we opened a studio and moved to the countryside, truly, with our whole lives.
Every day we see fruit growers tending their trees. Their presence, quiet and persistent, gives us a sense of rootedness . It reminds us that good fruit matures slowly, and good work is not rushed.
New challenges, new joy
The countryside makes things real and therefore challenging. Clay dries faster in summer, slower in autumn; customer packages need to be packed more securely; the kiln calls for wood, gas, or electricity not according to our moods, but according to the firing schedule. The internet doesn't always keep up with ambition, and a minor repair can turn into a day of wandering around for a screw that "surely isn't available today."
Yet, therein lies the joy. The vessel you emerge with has the temperature of your attention. A successful firing lingers in the memory like a well-played note. The day has weight and flavor.
Three ideas to consider carefully
1. A bridge between the old and the new.
Before you leave the city, consider a profession that can have two shores. For me, interiors were such a bridge, and furniture provided bread when ceramics was just beginning. Maybe yours will be photography, online education, herbalism, renovation, or baking? Bridges are meant to cross to the other side without a sudden jump.
2. Learning in cycles, not sprints.
Craftsmanship demands time. Courses away, returns to the studio, personal trials, failures, and corrections—these are the building blocks of a confident hand. My "two-week stays" in the Beskid Niski Mountains and a longer ceramics school have put into order what was previously a premonition. Plan your studies like a year in an orchard: preparation, flowering, fruiting, rest.
3. The studio as a meeting place.
The countryside loves community. Even if you start small, with just three groups, a few people for a weekend, it's enough to fill the space with meaning. Workshops aren't just a source of income; they're also a conversation that leaves you and your guests feeling a little more at peace.
Approach these ideas mindfully. Not as a battle plan, but as a sketch that only time and effort will transform into a drawing. Before you say "yes," sit in silence. Check if it's your "yes."
A workshop in the rhythm of nature
In winter, the stove warms us; in summer, dishes dry in the sun. In spring, birdsong fills the interior; in autumn, the air carries the scent of damp earth. This place teaches us to breathe evenly, to listen more carefully, to work not faster, but smarter.
Instead of an ending
There's no single recipe for moving. There are stories. Ours is about how peace can become a disappointment , and hands can become memory . If you feel a similar call, don't turn away from it. But go slowly. Listen. Check. Let your life ripen like fruit in an orchard in its own time.
Dariusz Leszczyński
co-founder of Boscoo Ceramic
Header photo: Iza Sawicka
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