Today we’d like to introduce you to Xoxi McCauley.
Xoxi, we appreciate you taking the time to share your story with us today. Where does your story begin?
There are moments in life when the past quietly finds its way back to us.
For me, it happened after my father passed away. Among the things he had saved over the years were small ceramic pieces I had made as a first grader. I had almost forgotten them. He hadn’t. Discovering those little pieces of clay became a kind of homecoming—and an invitation to return to something that had been part of me all along.
I had explored jewelry-making as a creative outlet, but when I began working with clay again, I found something deeper. Handbuilding became a form of meditation: a way to slow down, quiet the mind, and let my hands lead. Clay asks for patience and presence. It can be shaped, altered, softened, broken down, and begun again. Somewhere in that process, I found healing, community, and a profound sense of peace.
I also found my father.
There is something about working with my hands that makes me feel connected to him—not only because he saved those first pieces of my work, but because ceramics has become a way of carrying forward something he recognized in me as a child: the desire to create.
My work is primarily handbuilt, with an appreciation for organic forms, texture, simplicity, and the beauty of imperfection. I am drawn to objects that feel tactile and personal—pieces meant to be held, used, lived with, and perhaps one day passed on.
The name Yellow Girl is deeply rooted in my childhood and my relationship with my father. When I was little, I had bright yellow hair, and my father’s mentor’s child affectionately called me “the little yellow girl.” My father would also send me yellow flowers throughout my life. Yellow became intertwined with memories of childhood, love, and being seen.
Today, Yellow Girl is more than a name. It is a thread connecting who I was, who my father knew me to be, and who I am becoming through clay. What began with a first grader’s hands and a father’s decision to save her work has come full circle—into a creative practice that feels at once grounding, joyful, and deeply personal.
For me, clay is not simply something I make. It is a way of remembering, connecting, and coming home.
Would you say it’s been a smooth road, and if not what are some of the biggest challenges you’ve faced along the way?
Not at all. Life has taken me through some beautiful seasons and some very difficult ones, and I think both have found their way into my work.
Losing my father was one of the most profound experiences of my life. Finding the ceramics I had made as a child after his passing was both heartbreaking and unexpectedly healing. It reminded me that creativity had always been a part of me, even during the years when I wasn’t actively making art.
Returning to clay hasn’t always been easy, either. There is a vulnerability that comes with creating something with your hands and putting it out into the world. I’ve had to learn to let go of perfection, to trust the process, and to accept that some pieces simply don’t work. Clay cracks, collapses, warps, breaks, and sometimes becomes something entirely different from what I imagined. I’ve learned that those moments aren’t failures—they’re part of the conversation between the maker and the material.
There have also been the inevitable challenges of finding the time and confidence to make creativity a meaningful part of life. But clay has taught me that the road doesn’t have to be smooth to be worthwhile. Sometimes the unexpected turns are where the most meaningful discoveries happen.
In many ways, that is what I love most about handbuilding. It keeps me present. It asks me to slow down, accept imperfection, and begin again. And somewhere along the way, I realized that the practice of working with clay was teaching me how to do the same thing in life.
Appreciate you sharing that. What else should we know about what you do?
My work is rooted in handbuilding with clay. I love the intimacy of creating something slowly with my hands—pinching, shaping, layering, carving, and allowing the clay to guide the process. I’m drawn to organic forms, natural textures, and pieces that feel both beautiful and useful. I want my work to feel as though it belongs in someone’s home and becomes part of their everyday life.
What I think sets my work apart is the personal connection behind it. I’m not interested in creating perfect, mass-produced objects. I love the evidence of the hand—the subtle variations, imperfections, and unexpected details that make each piece unique. There is something very human about that.
I’m especially proud that ceramics has allowed me to create a community around something that began as such a personal journey. What started with rediscovering the ceramics I made as a child has grown into a creative practice that I now get to share with other people.
My work can be found on Instagram at @yellowgirlceramics and is also currently carried by Domecil, a beautiful specialty boutique that has given me the opportunity to share my pieces with a wider audience.
More than anything, I’m proud that I found my way back to making. After spending so much of my professional life in the corporate world, having a creative practice that is entirely my own feels incredibly meaningful. Every piece is a little reminder that it’s never too late to return to something that makes you happy.
What were you like growing up?
I grew up in Vermont, a true country girl at heart. I was quiet, shy, and introspective, and as an only child I became very comfortable with my own company. I was happiest outside—wandering through gardens, climbing trees, being around animals, and exploring the natural world around me.
My parents were divorced, and that was difficult at times. I think growing up in that environment made me sensitive and observant, and I found a great deal of comfort in nature. Vermont gave me a beautiful place to escape into—there was always a garden to explore, a tree to climb, an animal to watch, or simply the quiet of being outdoors.
Looking back, I can see how much those early experiences shaped who I am and, ultimately, my work. My love of organic forms, natural textures, and the imperfect beauty of handmade things feels very connected to the way I experienced the world as a child.
And perhaps that quiet, curious little girl is still in there somewhere. She is the one who first discovered clay—and decades later, found her way back to it.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: yellowgirlceramics
