True Stories Leonia Mckoy
Shaping a Life from Jamaican Earth
Leonia’s Art
The first time I felt the power of my own hands, I wasn’t working with clay. I was a ten-year-old girl at Mico Practicing All-Age, sitting at a wooden desk in the middle of a Kingston afternoon. Back then, every girl wanted the store-bought Barbie paper dolls, the ones with the glossy finish and the plastic smell. I couldn’t have them. So, a classmate and I decided we would simply make our own.
We didn’t just draw the clothes; we drew the dolls themselves—every curve of the limb, every expression. We built their worlds from scratch on scrap paper. I remember the quiet focus of it, the way the hum of the classroom faded away as I realized that if I wanted something to exist, I could draw it into being. That was the seed: the realization that I didn’t need the world to provide for me if I could create for myself.
For a long time, I thought that creativity was just a quiet companion. I went to Wolmer’s High School for Girls, where the art room became my sanctuary, but even then, art felt like a beautiful hobby rather than a life’s calling. It took my teacher, Mrs. Dunn, to look at me and see a future I hadn’t yet dared to imagine. She pointed me toward Edna Manley College, and it was there, in the foundation program, that I met clay.
The moment I touched it, everything else—the pencils, the paint, the paper—fell away. Ceramics wasn’t just about making; it was about a physical conversation. It was the weight of the earth, the resistance of the material, the way it recorded every thumbprint and every hesitation. It allowed me to build, carve, and paint all in one breath. And then there was the fire. Seeing a piece go into the kiln hard and brittle, grey earth and emerge as something permanent and stone-hard… that transformation changed my soul. I realized I could create things that held both function and feeling.
But even with a deep love for the craft, the transition from artist to artisan-entrepreneur wasn’t a straight line. I found myself teaching Visual Arts in Linstead, and later filling in back at Wolmer’s. I loved the art, but I felt adrift in the classroom. I was still searching for something that was truly mine.
The real shift happened a little before I got married. I was still making pieces just for the joy of it—texture and form for their own sake—never thinking about a price tag. One evening, I showed my husband, Troy, a new ceramic piece. He looked at it, really looked at it, and asked, “So, how much are you going to sell this for?” I was stunned. It wasn’t even fired yet. But that question was a mirror. He saw value where I only saw a process. He helped me see that my hands weren’t just creating art; they were shaping possibilities for a life of independence.
The early days of Brand Leonia’s Art were a whirlwind of movement. I started with ceramic jewelry—tiny, wearable bud vases thrown on the potter’s wheel. I would paddle one side flat so they would sit comfortably against the heart. They were vibrant, experimental, and intensely personal. I didn’t have a showroom; I had a bag and a sense of purpose. I went to the Jamaica Business Development Corporation, to craft fairs, and even to my husband’s office at Guardian Life. I would show up, sometimes by appointment and sometimes just on faith, showing people how a piece of the earth could become a piece of fashion.
The road hasn’t been without its stones. Marketing myself—finding the people who truly “get” what I do—is a constant climb. But I’ve learned that the struggle is part of the firing process. You have to endure the heat to become permanent.
What makes my work breathe is the island itself. When you hold one of my pieces, you aren’t just holding clay; you’re holding the geography of Jamaica. I incorporate harvested red clay from under the bridge at Harbour View, slurry and ash from a stone quarry in St. Thomas and wood ash collected from local barbecues to create my glazes. There is a deep, quiet luxury in transforming what others call “waste”—ash and dirt—into something that reflects the light.
My daily rhythm is my prayer. It begins at 3 a.m. in the dark, quiet hours where I center myself with the Lord. By 5 a.m., the house is a symphony of breakfast and school prep. Once the family is out, the studio becomes my world. I move between the wheel and the garden, working until the afternoon sun tells me it’s time to shift back into being a wife and mother. I am in bed by 8 p.m., exhausted but full.
Lately, I’ve been focused on my Butterfly Series, inspired by the Papilio homerus, our rare Swallowtail butterfly. It’s a symbol of transformation and resilience—the same spirit I see in the Jamaican Diaspora. When someone in London or New York, someone who hasn’t smelled the salt air of Kingston in years, holds one of my pieces, I want them to feel that home isn’t a place they left behind. I want them to feel that Jamaica is a state of “becoming.” It is a luxury, a resilient beauty that stays with you.
Being part of the Things Jamaican family changed the trajectory of everything. A grant from the JBDC allowed me to buy materials in the quantities I needed to actually grow, moving me from a hobbyist to a producer. It was the vote of confidence I needed to realize that Brand Leonia’s Art could be a sought-after name.
If my brand were a place, it would be Portland. It would be that raw, untouched greenery, the blue of the sea, and the sense of something sacred and under-commercialized. That is what I’m building. In five years, I don’t just want to be selling art; I want to be living in my purpose, using the work of my hands to support my family and invest in the dreams of others. Success isn’t just a transaction; it’s the freedom to create something meaningful through time and persistence. Like the clay in the kiln, I am still transforming, still unfolding, and always, always rooted in this soil.
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