Ceramic designer Janža Dolinšek creates from a place where work, home, and everyday life naturally overlap. Guided by intuition, her practice moves between functional objects and emotional expression, with material, space, and feeling always closely connected. In this conversation, she reflects on authenticity, the value of working with your hands, building community through creativity, and the quiet routines that shape both her work and the life around it.
Tell us who you are and what you do.
I’m Janža Dolinšek, and I work under the brand name JNŽ Studio. My practice isprimarily focused on ceramic design, though my projects occasionally extend intographic design, spatial design, and event management.
What currently inspires you the most?
This might sound a little cheesy, but: my wonderful life. I’m incredibly lucky to share a peaceful, beautiful home with my best friend/the love of my life. We’re also surrounded by the sweetest dogs and cats. The line between work and hobbies is sometimes blurred, but not in a bad way. I know how fortunate I am, and I’m deeply grateful that this life fills my heart and gives me the space to create. My creativity comes from a place of contentment; sadness and anxiety leave me feeling paralyzed. During difficult times, being creative is much harder, but I still turn to making things, sometimes even forcing myself to, because it helps me bounce back a little faster.
What makes something a “go-to” piece for you?
A good balance of comfort, practicality, and quality. And a certain cool factor - one that can only emerge through the connection between the piece and the person wearing it.
What does authenticity mean to you today?
When we do something simply because it feels right - even if no one sees us (or our work). When we wear something for ourselves, not for others. The search for authenticity is never easy; it means constantly questioning who we are and searching for those fleeting fragments of honest creativity.
What does it mean to you to shop in a physical store and help shape its community?
That’s a great question for me - I do most of my shopping online, from the comfort of my couch (guilty). Ironically, as a designer, I do want people to experience my work in physical shops: to pick up the pieces, hold them in their hands, and imagine living with them. With tactile objects, the experience of shopping in person is completely different. Part of that is because shops create a unique atmosphere of their own, one that can beautifully complement a designer’s vision.
In your practice, what decides the visual language of a piece: function, material, or intuition?
Hmm, all of the above - including the visual language - are inseparably connected and form a continuous cycle. At every step, though, it’s intuition that guides me from one point to the next, and it’s what I trust when making decisions. I also believe that intuition is something that deepens with experience and knowledge.
Do you see ceramics more as objects of use, or as silent carriers of narrative and space?
I hope my ceramics bring both together. Like a true go-to piece, they should be practical while also being thoughtfully designed. My hope is that this combination - together with the context of the space and the person using it - evokes an emotional response. Very little happens in my work without feelings; my motivation comes from within, and it’s inseparably tied to the emotions I develop toward the projects I choose to pursue.
When you create a workshop experience, what matters more to you: technical learning, creative freedom, or community building?
Workshops and hands-on events take place at the studio regularly, though not very often. They’re an important part of the studio’s practice and identity, and I definitely want to keep developing them. But I don’t think one exists without the other: if I want to build a community, people first need to experience creative freedom. And I believe that kind of freedom only truly emerges once we understand the material and what it has to offer, in other words, once we have a solid technical understanding of it.
“VERY LITTLE HAPPENS IN MY WORK
WITHOUT FEELINGS.”
What unexpected lesson has your unique lifestyle taught you that you never could have learned in the city?
The importance of the circadian rhythm - especially in winter. During my first year living here, I was completely surprised by how early it gets dark in the evening. And by how well you sleep once your body settles into the rhythm and adapts to that time of year.
If your life were turned into a documentary, what would be the scene that best captures who you are?
A quiet morning in the studio. I’m preparing clay for the day’s work - wedging it, weighing it, and writing my to-do list. Then, one by one, all three dogs wander in, still sleepy and content. Wagging their tails, they come over for a cuddle. It always feels like they’re wishing me a good day - and I’m wishing one to them, too. Outside, the birds are singing at full volume, and around the same time, our two cats are usually returning from their morning wander, just in time for breakfast.
When people step into your atelier, what do you hope they feel before they even touch the clay?
More than anything, I want people to feel good: welcome, accepted, and invited into a space that encourages them to create. Without pressure, without rushing, without comparing themselves to Pinterest or to one another.
Credits
Photography: Arin Rapuš
