Like pulling teeth! In conversation with Sally Edmundson-Bird

This article first appeared in STAT magazine’s Blackpool issue, STAT18

Photography: Courtesy of Sally Edmundson-Bird

It was in the upper hall of The Whitworth Art Gallery, at Manchester Ceramics Fair, where I first met potter Sally Edmundson-Bird for the first time: me, a fledgling design journalist with eyes bigger than my belly; Sally, a recent ceramics master’s graduate from Preston College, inspired by the seaside and Blackpool’s own sweet tooth. “Iced gems!” I’d heard at least four fair-goers before me say on the approach to Edmundson-Bird’s stand. Only on elbowing my way to the front could I clearly see what they meant. All sugary hues and soft serve swirls piled high, the presentation of pots that strewn the tablecloth looked good enough to eat.

Among the pieces, vases with jazzy gold rims and lidded urns – taking on the appearance of a Central Beach favourite, the 99er – shared centre stage, with icing brooches sprinkled playfully at their bases. Though nothing short of a joy to look at, I couldn’t help but feelthere was something a little off; gangrenous green and bubbling glazes dripping beneath otherwise sweet appliqués. After staying to learn a bit about the drivers behind Edmundson-Bird’s work, I walked away with, suffice to say, a bitter taste in my mouth.

Following an 18-year pottery hiatus, Edmundson-Bird returned to further education at Preston College, her former role as an events manager, rigging venues at midnight and working unsociable weekend hours, unsuitable for life as a new parent. Growing up near Flyde, Edmundson-Bird’s love for the coast would inevitably inspire her creative output during her studies, however, it was a tutor who encouraged her to choose one single seaside resort as a primary subject. “As a child, I spent countless weekends in Blackpool, driving through the illuminations, going to the Pleasure Beach or the ice rink. Now as a mum to a young boy, I spend hours there doing the same things but with him,” says Edmundson-Bird, her decision final.

Back in the planning stages of her graduate project (which would later catch the attention of punters at The Whitworth), Edmundson-Bird travelled to Blackpool to photograph precedents. Capturing its famed pier, arcade frontages and messages written in sand, Edmundson-Bird also noted Blackpool’s lingering Victorian identity – posters prescribing ‘tonic weekends’ to beat the winter blues harkened back to a time when the town was a destination of wellbeing and restorative health.

Fruity Blues, Summer Seas

Despite easy to see through rose-tinted specs, Edmundson-Bird deep dived into how the town has since become characterised by a string of shocking healthcare statistics and record levels of deprivation, gaining a more well-rounded perspective before sitting down at the wheel. “I read in detail about the current health issues [in Blackpool, and how it has] the lowest life expectancy due to Deaths of Despair,” she discloses. This statement was backed by a 2024 news article by the University of Manchester which details that, based on local authority, premature fatalities were 2.5 times higher in Blackpool than any other region in England.

Speaking to her maternal instincts, Edmundson-Bird was shocked by how sustained poverty also revealed itself through a dramatic decline in the oral health of kids. “[What really hit home] was a chance conversation with my dentist who mentioned he had worked in the town prior to moving, and that the one thing he didn’t miss was seeing children who needed full mouth extractions.” She continues: “I then read some articles explaining that children having time off school at a certain point in their life ultimately resulted in higher levels of unemployment [in the same children] down the line. Of course, this [procedure] needs a general anaesthetic, which leads to time off school, and so the cycle begins.” According to the JSNA, tooth decay in children aged between five and nine years old is the most common cause of hospital admissions in the area, with the rate of extraction being 1856.9 in every 100,000 – over three times higher than the national average. Rotten teeth and gum disease in kids has become so prevalent, in fact, that in 2022, Blackpool council was forced to introduce free fluoridated milk as part of the school curriculum, not only as an attempt to improve dental hygiene, but also supporting parents who were unable to tend to their children’s basic needs.

“As a result, I based the confectionery aspect of my work on the dental statistics. A lot of my early work takes on a far more funereal tone… there are a lot of [loose] teeth.” Reflecting on Edmundson-Bird’s graduate portfolio, you would only have to look as far as her Sweet Tooth vase, or the gold crown relief work of her ribbon vessels to understand this to be the sticky premise. “The colour palette and forms were centred on Blackpool’s Victorian influences. I created urns and lidded boxes as well as vases and bowls in the style of the time,” she adds. The potter brings together Blackpool's past vitality into conflict with its modern decay – a holiday resort for caries and fillings.

Latte 99

“Each pot can have up to five different glazes applied to recreate the rich, drippy nature of Victorian pieces. I embellish my work with sprigs and a lot of piping. I’m also partial to a bit of lustre. It adds to the kitsch, camp side of a piece,” Edmundson-Bird explains. “A lustred item has to be fired three times. It’s time consuming, but I tend to batch make the basic forms and then spend a long time adding the components.”

The heart and vicarious toothache involved in learning these grizzly truths is no joke. However, Edmundson-Bird reminisces on what prompted her to choose the town as her main source of inspiration in the first place. “I love Blackpool. If you don’t ‘get’ Blackpool, you don’t ‘get’ life,” she retorts, recalling daytrips drinking slushies, inhaling candy floss and whizzing around on fairground rides. Perhaps that’s what makes Edmundson-Bird’s work so compelling – we have all found ourselves sticky and sweet-toothed along the promenade – but for some the sweetness comes with a bitter truth: sugar means death.

In the face of systemic adversity, Edmundson-Bird hopes for a future Blackpool that’s worth smiling about. Something healthier, closer to those Victorian days of vitality. She tells me she is pushing hard for the government to help bring change and investment to Blackpool by designating it as City of Culture. Blackpool aches, but the culture that helps dull its pain may be the one thing that can change this seaside of caries and cavities into something sweet, but not so sick.