For years, my life unfolded in places where devastation was a daily reality. I worked as a humanitarian in communities scarred by the violence of war and the ferocity of nature.
In these places, loss was everywhere — yet so was resilience. I saw people return to the work of living: clearing debris, rebuilding walls, preparing food over small fires. And amid this struggle, I began to notice the objects that endured — handmade ceramics. Clay jars holding the day’s water. Cooking pots blackened from years of use. Bowls that had served countless meals. These were not luxuries; they were lifelines, anchors in a shifting world.
Some of these vessels came back with me — not as souvenirs, but as reminders of the strength I had witnessed. Each carried a story of survival and the will to rebuild.
When I later began my own work in clay, those memories shaped my process. My time studying in Florence, Italy, gave me the foundation I needed — learning to respect the material, to practice patience, and to allow the clay to speak in its own way. Surrounded by centuries of tradition, I understood how ceramics could bridge memory, culture, and continuity.
In my studio in France, I found my voice in saggar firing. Working in my backyard kiln, I enclosed each piece in a container with leaves, flowers, and minerals gathered after their season had ended. In the heat of the kiln, these remnants of nature were transformed, leaving delicate imprints on the surface — just as struggle leaves its traces on the human spirit.
Every firing is different, never fully within my control — and that is its truth. As in war and disaster, beauty can emerge from what is unpredictable, and endurance is revealed in what remains.
Today, each vessel I create carries this history. They are not pristine, untouched artifacts; they are meant to be held, to live in daily rituals, and to remind us of our shared resilience — and of the stories the earth itself is willing to tell.
Through organic forms, textured surfaces, and elemental markings, I seek to reflect the dual nature of the elements themselves — capable of destruction, yet also of healing and regeneration. Every vessel I create is an offering: a reminder that what we hold in our hands can connect us to one another, to the earth, and to the enduring strength of the human spirit.