Ceramics
2021–2025
Hand-built pieces in local clay: eroded surfaces, ash glazes, and cavities opened by the fire.
One wonders whether it belongs to a mechanism that found its way through the cracks of time, or to a machinery that does not yet exist. In it one can hear a forgotten murmur of a civilisation not yet born; the boundary between fiction and reality fades. It works as a gear between two worlds, where that murmur becomes a silent cry of those who were subjugated and stripped of their home — scars still present in the fabric of our society.
An organic structure made of nerikomi ceramic plates assembled like the fragments of a protective skin. The form evokes a half-open seed: a space of shelter, transformation, and latency. Threads and slip textures suggest living connections, like roots or scars, recalling that every shelter is also a place where something new can germinate.
Its glazes rest between light and shadow, trying to imitate a river at sunset. The textures on its surface were shaped over years of erosion, and perhaps carry subtle lines evoking the human imprint. One day this piece may fall and shatter into a thousand pieces, or melt into the countryside or a river — a silent witness to the fleetingness of our existence.
In the depth of the earth, this piece echoes the interconnection of all things. It invites us to contemplate the terrestrial strata not only as witnesses of the past, but as portals towards an interdependent, ever-transforming future.
The result of a search for colour and texture — an attempt to imitate nature, to capture the secrets of mineral transformation, where earth becomes stone and time folds into layers.
A frame of graphite and charcoal, broken then repaired with gold. Before it, a mountain of coal, both refuge and obstacle. In its heart, a grain of gold awaits. The work dialogues with kintsugi—the fracture is not hidden, it is illuminated. Darkness is not an end, but a threshold. What seems like ruin is perhaps a waiting seed. A space to look at what is broken. A promise that something can sprout.
A ceramic seed, buried in darkness. Fossilized. But alive. What is buried is not lost. What is fossilized is not dead. The seed waits, intact, in its matrix of time. The ceramic holds the memory of fire. The seed, that of life. Between the two, a threshold. A fossil of light. A frozen promise. The possibility, always open, of germinating.