Earth Creations at House of Art - A Day of Clay, Colour and Connection in Haenertsburg

After two straight weeks of mist and mountain rain, Magoebaskloof was starting to feel like a soggy cocoon. Fog-softened mornings, damp footsteps, washing that never quite dried - cabin fever was creeping in. So when I parked outside the House of Art in Haenertsburg and looked up to see a sky the colour of crystal glass, I felt almost giddy. The sun, apparently making up for lost time, blazed a summer-bold 35 degrees across the village. In front of me, a bicycle wheel made of leaded stained glass spun lazily in the breeze, scattering colour across the walls.

House of Art - home to Earth Creations, the shared passion project of Marion and Eric de Jonge, is impossible to miss. Bright mosaics ripple across the exterior, wind chimes tinkle at the door, and mobiles refract little shards of sunlight. It’s a place that announces itself not with grandeur, but with joy. And joy, I would soon discover, is exactly what Marion and Eric came here to build.

The couple settled on ‘The Mountain’ in 2010, leaving behind 27 years in Johannesburg and long careers in the five-star hospitality industry around the world. They were ready for tranquillity - mountains, forests and slower days. Marion, originally from Austria, immediately felt at home in Haenertsburg’s close-knit village community and familiar alpine-like terrain. After designing and building their dream home, they transformed part of it into an art studio and workspace where their creativity could live freely. Eric leaned into glass art, while Marion deepened her love for colour through silk painting, acrylics, mosaics, and, eventually, clay.

“Living our dream life inspired us to let other people experience the same feeling,” Marion later told me. And so the House of Art was born - a vibrant, welcoming space for anyone wanting to escape the daily grind and reconnect with themselves through creativity.

I was here for one of Marion’s pottery classes, a creative experience I had been promising myself for months. Inside her compact studio-shop, I had to blink a few times to let my eyes adjust. Everywhere you look there’s colour - painted tiles, patterned coasters, mosaic letters, ceramic bowls, glass trinkets, and the odd whimsical creature perched on a shelf.

But once you settle, you begin to see the hands behind it all. The room has the soul of a working studio: shelves lined with raw earthenware in varying stages of becoming, pots of tools and scrapers, sponges, brushes, and an assortment of mysterious thingamabobs that potters seem to use with effortless familiarity.

Marion handed each of us a ball of clay. “Alright, dig in - knead out all those air bubbles,” she said with a grin. As I pressed my palms into its cool surface, something old stirred in my memory. My mother once took pottery classes and I remembered the earthy smell, the weight of the clay, the rhythm of leaning in and turning it. They say clay has a memory and perhaps it’s true because my hands remembered exactly what to do.

We were three students that morning, including a young couple visiting their parents in the village. They had booked the class as a way to spend meaningful time together “prioritising experiences over things,” they laughed. Marion couldn’t agree more.

When I asked how she came to pottery, she told me her story in fragments, like scattered shards waiting to be reassembled. She had taken classes in the Netherlands and South Africa whenever she could, but her real journey began after moving to Haenertsburg. One day, passing a small pottery studio on her commute, something made her stop, turn around and walk inside. “I found my tribe,” she said. “For a while, at least.” After learning the basics, she realised she wanted more - her own style, her own experiments, her own voice in clay.

I chose to make a platter for my mom - simple and textured with a leaf imprint. Rolling out the clay, pressing the leaf into its surface, lifting it to reveal the delicate veins left behind - it was strangely meditative. For a moment, I forgot about looming deadlines and the reasons I had almost cancelled. Marion says pottery is therapeutic for her, and that’s exactly what she wants people to feel in her studio: immersion, presence and the joy of making something with your hands. “My students are always surprised at what they can create in such a short time,” she says.

Because we were on a tight schedule, my platter was “speed-dried” with the help of a hairdryer and heater - a process that normally happens overnight. Just as we finished, the scent of coffee and cinnamon drifted in from outside. We stepped out to the little stoep, where Eric treated us to his homemade coffee liqueur with cream and a generous slice of Marion’s freshly baked cinnamon cake. The stoep, framed by stained-glass panels and dotted with Marion’s artworks, felt like stepping into a kaleidoscope.

Eric then showed me around their guesthouse: three self-catering rooms, each quirky and colourful, decorated with their own art. They’re perfectly located just off the village’s main street, offering visitors an easy base from which to explore Haenertsburg’s forest hikes, mountain biking trails, cafés, artisan shops and endless mountain views. As Marion likes to say, “There is something for everyone in this safe environment - from swimming and cycling to art and hospitality.”

Back in the studio, it was time to paint. Dozens of little bottles, each filled with colourful potential, lined the table. My plan (dark blue, green, a splash of yellow and purple) lasted less than two minutes. As soon as I started, I realised plans and pottery don’t always mix. My design dissolved into blotches and mismatched strokes.  Marion glanced over with a dubious grin. “Remember, this is for your mother.” I looked down at the chaos on the plate and wondered what she would say about it.

Marion went on to explain that the kiln has a mind of its own. “The temperature, the firing time, how the glaze reacts with the clay - it’s always a surprise.” In other words: surrender. Let the clay finish the conversation.  As I drove away later that afternoon, leaving my platter in Marion’s care to dry and make its unpredictable journey through the kiln, I whispered a quiet wish that it would emerge beautifully and that my mother would love it as a Christmas gift. 

And then I reminded myself: even if it came out wonky or wild, the real offering was the intention - the presence, the thought, the hours spent shaping something with her in mind. In the bigger scheme of things though, knowing what my mother would give just to be with me so perhaps, just like those two young lovebirds, this season is the time to choose presence over presents and to create something that lasts far longer than anything you can buy.

Book a pottery or mosaic session, browse the studio, or stay over at House of Art. Contact Marion:  083 259 8427 |  mdjpucks@gmail.com