Born in 1993 in Inta, a small northern town in Russia known for its coal mines and long winters, Anton’s early surroundings were far from the world of pottery. But in the silence of that landscape, something soft began to grow.
“I had no idea what I wanted to do or who I wanted to be. In Belgorod, I met great friends with whom I share many interests. We drink tea, go out in nature, build things with our hands, sing songs by the fire and swim naked in the rivers. I am grateful fate has placed such people around me”
He didn’t plan to become a potter. Anton studied business and even graduated with honors. For a short time, he tried his hand at tattooing. But nothing quite clicked—until he discovered Chinese tea, and with it, the delicate world of ceramics. That was in 2012. Something shifted, and he’s never looked back.
After finishing school, like everyone else Anton moved to the city called Belgorod which lies just 40 km away from the Ukrainian border. Here the land is completely different from where he grew up. There are white chalky hills everywhere that gave Belgorod its name (lit. “white city”). In Belgorod, Anton saw spring for the first time. He saw flowering trees like cherry, apple, and apricot trees. This was unforgettable for him. He decided to move to his grandmother’s apartment in Belgorod.
His first studio was his grandmother’s apartment. A wheel in the living room, a small kiln on the balcony. It was simple and makeshift, but it was enough. He learned on his own—by watching, trying, failing, and trying again. Slowly, cups began to appear. Then teapots. Then a growing sense that this was his path..
“I began my self-taught journey in ceramics, starting with humble experiments on my grandma’s balcony and adjoining room. Ceramics quickly became my artistic passion, particularly focusing on crafting teapots and tea ceramics.”
The shift was quiet but deep. What started as a curiosity became a rhythm. From the start, his focus was clear: teapots, tea ware, forms born from ceremony and calm. There is no rush in Anton’s process, only a constant returning to the essentials.
“My work draws deep inspiration from Chinese tea ceremonies, oriental philosophies, and the philosophy of wabi-sabi. With each new creation, I embark on a constant quest for fresh insights and innovative approaches. This style of work resonates with me profoundly, offering an endless well of fascination.”
You can feel this in the details. His glazes echo – rivers, tree bark, mountain air. His forms carry the memory of a hand, of silence, of tea being poured somewhere in the hills.
“Nature’s influence plays a significant role in my creative process. I strive to capture the essence of my immediate environment and translate it into my ceramics through glazes and forms. I contemplate the very essence of nature and the profound question of consciousness and its emptiness.”
Anton’s work is quiet. It invites you in gently, like a pot of tea shared between friends. You can feel the rhythm of his hands in the form of a lid, the glaze of a cup, the curve of a spout. He says ceramics taught him patience. That they help him stay present. That not every pot needs to be perfect.
“In this emptiness, I find boundless potential for shapes and forms, enabling me to create vessels that break free from conventional constraints. Nature’s intrinsic purpose is to give birth, and in my work, it gives birth to teapots.”
Anton’s connection to tea is not just philosophical—it’s deeply geographical.
One particular wellspring of inspiration is the tea-growing region of Himachal Pradesh, where the leaves that fill his teapots are cultivated. Each teapot he creates carries a subtle connection to the land where these tea leaves first sprouted, bridging users to the heart of nature.
Some pieces that he made at Dharamkot Studio, still light up the eyes of the visitors.
This idea—that a vessel can hold more than liquid, that it can hold story, connection, essence—is at the heart of Anton’s work.
“Through ceramics, I delve into the intricate relationship between form and emptiness, consciousness and creation. Teapots, in their timeless allure, serve as vessels that transcend cultures, connecting us to the very essence of the Tea.”
Anton’s pots are for those who notice. For those who take their time. For those who understand that even in stillness, something is always moving.
Dialogue with Anton:
Could you share how your journey with ceramics began?
Anton: My journey into ceramics began about nine years ago, though the intention sparked even earlier. I had a strong desire to create something—to express myself artistically. At the same time, I was falling in love with Chinese and Japanese tea culture. The tea ceremony opened my eyes to the beautiful variety of forms and objects used within it. I was deeply inspired to make my own.
Ceramics, though ancient, still feel incredibly alive—relevant and evolving. I started by making my first cups and teapots. Since then, I’ve explored many techniques, materials, and firing methods. And honestly, I feel like this path is endless. There’s always something new to learn, a new idea to try.
How do you choose the pieces you want to create?
Anton: I love the global tea community. It’s such a kind, open, and curious group of people—lovers of beauty, seekers of truth, meditators. I’m always happy to make pieces for them.
The world of tea is full of endless objects to explore—cups, tea bowls, classic and side-handled teapots, gaiwans, chawans, incense holders, coasters, vases, kensui for waste water. Even special stoves and coal-fired kettles!
Right now, I’m focusing on teapots. I’ve given myself a personal challenge to create a series of 1008 teapots—and I’ve made about 76 so far 😬.
What materials do you love working with?
Anton: I love working with natural materials. Ideally, I believe the best clay should be dug by hand—I’ve done that in Goa while wood firing, and I try to do the same in Russia when I can.
That said, I often work with high-temperature stoneware clay. When making glazes, I like to use feldspar and iron oxide. Iron is especially beautiful to me—it’s in our blood, after all—and it creates warm tones that shift from honey-yellow to blush brown to deep blood-purple.
Sometimes I’ll add sea salt, algae, wood ash, even seashells—whatever nature offers.
What’s your favorite part of making teaware?
Anton: It’s hard to choose. I love working at the wheel—it’s deeply meditative. I often imagine it as a black hole, where all forms are born. It feels cosmic, almost spiritual. Masculine and feminine energy meet there and create something new.
I also enjoy trimming—it’s like giving the final touch, refining the form, making it more graceful.
But perhaps my favorite part is wood firing. It’s intense, unpredictable, and beautiful. Over time, the wood reaches such high heat that ash melts and settles on the ceramics, forming its own natural glaze. It’s hard work—you have to understand your kiln, your materials, your atmosphere. Many pieces come out imperfect. But the ones that survive… they’re magical.
What does tea mean to you beyond the objects you create?
Anton: Tea entered my life about 14 years ago through a friend.Today, he runs a tea space in our town. It’s still growing. He introduced our entire friend circle to it. It became our way of spending time—without alcohol, without noise. Just warmth, kindness, presence.
Tea, to me, is more than a drink. It’s medicine. A plant of wisdom and strength, grown high in mountains where other crops can’t survive. The ceremony around tea is like meditation. You prepare your space, you focus your attention, and you drink in silence. I often place small statues of Buddha and Ganesh near me when I brew. It feels like a pooja. A quiet prayer.
There are hundreds of types of tea, made from the same leaf, each processed differently. That’s beautiful to me. And it’s a reminder—every detail matters. Every cup is a chance to tune yourself to something pure.
How does your culture influence your art?
Anton: To be honest, it doesn’t influence me much. My main inspiration comes from Chinese and Japanese tea traditions. In Russia, the tea culture isn’t as developed. Traditionally, people used large teapots and drank tea from saucers. The ceramics often had bright patterns like khokhloma or cobalt painting.
But traditional Russian pottery has lost its relevance. Today, you mostly find trendy ceramics copied from Pinterest—or pieces with absurd text. That’s not the direction I want to go.
Instead, I try to offer people something peaceful and grounding. I want my work to bring joy, to help people slow down and connect with natural beauty again.
And maybe that’s the beauty of it all—Anton’s pots are full of small details that remind us to slow down, to notice, to breathe. Each one is a reminder that handmade craftsmanship still has a place in this fast world.
You can explore Anton’s work here. Just don’t be surprised if you find yourself making tea a little more often after.