The Art Of Making In Tasmania

Editor’s Note: This story originally appeared in Volume 4 of B.H. Magazine. To get your copy (and access to future issues), subscribe here.

There’s something about Tasmania. The way the mist clings to the hills at dawn, the hush of ancient forests stretching towards the sky. It’s a place that slows you down and urges you to listen.

Perhaps that’s why so many makers seem drawn here, exercising crafts that demand patience, precision, and a deep connection to the land. Here, creativity isn’t hurried. It ferments slowly in barrels, it takes shape under calloused hands, it’s thrown and fired, sanded and stained.

Adam James, Laura McCusker, and Hamish Gibson are among those who have turned their passions into professions, forging careers that are as much about process as they are about product. Whether it’s in the umami kick of a perfectly aged miso, the grain of a table top aching to support a shared meal, or the curve of a handcrafted ceramic bowl, their work hums with the quiet rhythms of Tasmania itself.

Hamish Gibson: The Former Bar Owner

Hamish Gibson didn’t set out to become a ceramicist. In fact, for the better part of twenty years, he was deep in another world entirely – hospo lifer, bar owner, cafe man. But something about the hum of creativity kept calling. When he and his wife moved back to Tasmania, he made a quiet, deliberate pivot. He set up a small studio in Hobart, opened a bag of clay, and let his hands figure out the rest.

Today, under the name Hobart Hills, Gibson has built a ceramics practice that balances aesthetic restraint with a kind of elemental ruggedness. His work can be found at The Agrarian Kitchen, one of Tasmania’s most lauded restaurants, where chefs plate seasonal produce on his precisely formed, softly textured dishes. It’s a fitting home for Gibson’s work – simple but refined, tactile, and deeply connected to place.

Gibson works primarily with slipcasting, a process that allows him to make “thin-walled, asymmetric, and complex shapes” that would be difficult to replicate by hand. It’s methodical, process-driven and almost meditative – qualities he appreciates after years in the high-octane world of hospitality.

“I love all the little steps and processes,” he says. “It means every day consists of lots of different tasks.”

His pieces are, in a way, a reflection of Tasmania itself. Raised on a sheep farm near Ben Lomond National Park, Gibson spent his childhood swimming in icy rivers and trekking through the bush. Now, those landscapes quietly echo in his pieces – the muted greys of distant hills, the earthy speckle of stone, the clean lines of wind-swept ridges.

Despite the growing demand for his ceramics, Gibson still revels in the slow, tactile nature of his craft. “Taking a simple idea to a fully finished product is what excites me most,” he says. “It starts as a sketch and ends up as something in someone’s home.”

A bowl, a plate, a cup might be everyday objects, but in the right hands, they’re something else entirely: small, beautiful reminders of patience, process, and place.

Laura McCusker: The Art of Timelessness

In her Tasmanian workshop, Laura McCusker is busy carving out a legacy – one solid timberpiece at a time. A trained furniture maker with a contemporary eye, McCusker’s work is built to last.

“If a piece is used regularly it will develop a patina and a provenance,” she says. “Stories and memories are overlaid, ensuring it will be loved intergenerationally.”

McCusker believes in furniture that isn’t just admired but lived with – knocked, repaired, and passed down like a well-worn leather jacket. Her designs are unmistakably Tasmanian, both in material and in spirit.

“All my timber is ethically sourced from Tasmania,” she says. “Shortened supply chains, responsible use of a precious local resource, the ability to repair, refinish, mend – it all makes sense.”

But it’s more than just a practical choice. McCusker hopes her work reflects the quiet beauty and stoic pragmatism of the island itself. She arrived in Tasmania more than two decades ago, drawn by affordability and good coffee – “very prosaic reasons,” she admits. But what she found was a place bursting with creative energy and a community of makers eager to collaborate.

“I love a good collab,” she says. “There are some really wonderful makers here in Tasmania, and the community is very supportive and well networked.”

It’s this spirit of cooperation that allows her to take on larger projects, calling in fellow artisans when an extra set of hands – or just some enthusiastic muscle – is needed. Instead of what she says is the overused canon of modernity, McCusker’s design ethos owes plenty to the Japanese Mingei movement, which celebrates the beauty of everyday objects, and reflects the maker in every visible stroke.

“Repairing, mending, and appreciating the marks of wear as an elevation rather than something that diminishes or devalues,” she explains.

It’s a philosophy that feels especially vital in an era of fast furniture and disposable design. For McCusker, good design is where art, craft, and trade overlap. “It needs to perform its function well, bring pleasure to the user, and be ethically made.”

That’s the plan, anyway. And for the past 25 years, it’s been working.

Adam James: Living Food & Wild Ideas

In the hills of Tasmania, among five acres of peppermint gums, Adam James is watching something bubble. It might be a batch of miso, aged in barrels for years, a fiery chilli sauce, or a garum (fermented fish sauce) made from an invasive species, one of his many exercises in both culinary experimentation and environmental pragmatism. Whatever it is, it’s alive.

“Essentially, I make ‘living food’,” explains James. “Fermented and unpasteurised pickles, sauces, and pastes – some aged for up to ten years – where beneficial bacteria and yeasts flourish.”

James, a former café owner, didn’t plan on becoming Australia’s fermentation guru. But the further he waded into the world of microbes, the more he realised that this was his calling.

“It’s a hobby turned obsession,” he admits, his breakthrough arriving with a Churchill Fellowship, which sent him on what he calls his “World Fermentation Tour” – a deep dive into age-old techniques from Japan to Scandinavia. The experience crystallised his approach: an ever-evolving blending of traditional methods and local terroir.

Tasmania, he insists, is as much an ingredient as the vegetables or grains he ferments for his label, Rough Rice. The air here is thick with wild yeasts, the seasons shape the speed and depth of his ferments, and the landscape itself fuels his creativity.

“I get all my best ideas when I’m immersed in the forests of Kunanyi, diving in the ocean, or plunging in the river nearby,” he says. “Might sound hippyish, but it works.”

While fermentation is often seen as an ancient practice, James is, at heart, an innovator. He describes himself as a “facilitator” of microbes, creating the right conditions and then letting nature take its course. The results? Flavours that are deep, complex, and sometimes entirely unexpected. He’s spent years refining this craft, but don’t ask him about scalability.

“I spend most working hours playing around and experimenting with new combinations and techniques,” he says. “Which – while that’s the fun part – isn’t the greatest business model.”

Still, the business finds him. In addition to an online store, his fermented creations appear on the menus of top Tasmanian restaurants and in collaborations with chefs, ceramicists, knife makers, and even outdoor brands like Yeti. And there’s more to come: James is working on a book and a fermentation documentary series. “Stay tuned,” he teases. Patience is a virtue in fermentation, but as with his miso, the wait will surely be worth it.

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