Rather than treating slugs as one motif among many, Tally’s sculptural practice has become deliberately singular. Her initial experimentation into clay has evolved into more of an intentional focus. The slug is consistently repeated, refined and recontextualised. By placing a creature so commonly overlooked or dismissed into the gallery space, her work introduces a sense of the absurd, disrupting expectations and encouraging viewers to engage more closely with animals they might otherwise ignore.

Tally’s first slug emerged through early experimentation with clay, extending a practice that has always been grounded in animals and nature. With a deep love and fascination for all creatures, for Tally it was the intensity of the response to this slug ceramic that marked a turning point. The slug provoked a mix of amusement, disgust and curiosity. It instantly excited Tally and she hasn’t looked back since.

Tally is happy for people to take what they want from her work, allowing people to have the freedom of response is what the art is all about. She does however dislike it when people talk of harming the slugs. In an exhibition she was part of a couple of people standing around her work started laughing about pouring salt on slugs. This struck a chord with Tally, a real animal lover.

Tally’s love of animals started young and has always been without hierarchy. She tells me about a time when she was in primary school and walking with her mum. It had rained and there were worms covering the path. Tally went around picking them up and a lady shook her hand, thanking her for clearing and saving the worms. Telling this story, Tally clearly appreciates the power of small things. Her slugs are not activist in the most obvious sense, they are a tool for reaction and a prompt for thinking.

Tally rarely begins with a fixed idea of what a slug will look like. Drawing from multiple reference images, she combines shapes, textures, and details to create realistic forms that aren't tied to any specific species and avoid a cartoonish feel. She describes sculpting as a therapeutic, immersive process, focusing on shape, form, and texture before the pieces are dried, bisque fired, glazed, and fired again - sometimes with a final lustre firing. Each slug is unique, varying in form, texture, and finish.

Tally compares her chrome slugs to bronze sculptures, a medium traditionally associated with permanence, and prestige. By applying this finish to humble slugs, she subverts expectations and elevates them to objects of beauty and significance. The reflective surfaces also evoke modern and contemporary sculpture, recalling artists such as Jeff Koons and Claes Oldenburg, while engaging with broader ideas around aesthetics and the uncanny.

Tally's ideal working day begins slowly, with a walk through Greenwich Market and chats with local traders on her way to the studio. She shares a workspace with other ceramic artists, valuing the sense of community and inspiration that comes from working alongside fellow makers. She documents her process extensively, maintaining a library of images to share, and sees Instagram as a platform for challenging perceptions of her work just as much as the gallery space. Despite the inevitable creative mess, she likes her studio to start off spotless.

Having lived in London for nearly a decade, Tally thrives on the city's constant stream of exhibitions and art events, which help build that sense of connection and community. Away from the studio, she enjoys grabbing an oat latte and wandering the city without a plan. Community remains central to her practice, and Tally loves being able to draw inspiration from artists whose journeys she follows online, and gain insight into their creative lives and processes.

Tally's work comes fully to life once it leaves the studio and enters a gallery or someone's home. What begins as a personal, intimate act of making becomes part of other people's worlds, inviting new interpretations and connections.

Tally’s slugs might seem funny at first, but there’s a lot going on beneath the surface. They’re playful, absurd, and a little shocking, but they’re also thoughtful explorations of how we see assign value and attention.

Tally's work asks us to slow down, look closer, and maybe rethink what counts as worthy of attention or care. It’s impossible not to smile, to be a little unsettled, and to be reminded that even the smallest, most overlooked creatures can leave a big impression.