My therapist told me to get a hobby and Popsy Wolf was born. What started with weird plates, vases, and pots turned into a full-blown family of creatures: The Monsters. Each monster that crawls out of the kiln arrives with its own story, temperament, and let’s say… unique communication style. Together, they form a sprawling family of beautifully flawed little beings, loud ones, leaky ones, dramatic ones, and quiet ones pretending not to care. They aren’t just characters, they’re reflections. Each one carries a blend of chaos and sincerity, like the parts of us that are too weird, too sensitive, too much, but still have so much to offer. Their personalities mirror the beautifully messy humans we meet in the world, each with their own gifts, patterns, and blind spots. See yourself, feel the roast, and bask in the humanness of it all. But somewhere between the laughter and the clay, something else cracked open. The Monsters became little vessels for feeling, grief, love, confusion, whatever refused to stay tidy. They hold the emotions we can’t always name, turning them into something you can actually hold without breaking. They remind us that feeling too much doesn’t make you fragile, it makes you alive. At its core, Popsy Wolf is about the imperfection of life, the messiness of being human. The Monsters give each person who carries one a place to put their feelings when the world becomes… a lot. “Let something else carry it all.” It’s about finding the sacred in the stupid, the beautiful in the broken, and the real in the ridiculous. Every monster is a tiny myth about being human. Together, they remind us: grief and joy live in the same clay, family is messy, feelings are loud, and you’re not broken, you’re just handmade. ********* THE MONSTER FAMILY The Monsters are what happen when feelings grow limbs. Each one’s a little mirror, sculpted from clay, glazed in emotion, and carrying just enough chaos to feel familiar. Together, they make up a sprawling, dysfunctional, weirdly loving family. The lineage begins with three ancient elders: The Rootkins — descendants of Siddles, the quiet root. Grounded, patient, full of nervous love and unfinished thoughts. They carry the weight of “trying their best,” and somehow make it look good. The Roarborns — offspring of Druthal, the family’s resident fire hazard. Loud, impulsive, passionate, and occasionally right. They feel first, think later, and refuse to apologize for the smoke. The Glimmerwicks — children of Janice, the accidental matriarch. Performers, romantics, storytellers, and chaos magnets. They process emotions like it’s theater, and sometimes it actually is. Every monster has its own story, its own emotional weather system, but they’re all connected by one truth: feeling is messy, and that’s the point. They’re not here to fix you. They’re here to sit with you while you feel it, and maybe crack a little so you don’t have to.