24x20”
Slab-built stoneware ceramic bark base, Foraged roots, Willow bark, Reed cane stained with roasted dandelion tea.
This work is an ode to the liminal—the threshold spaces where transformation quietly unfolds. It emerges from a dialogue between material and memory, where clay, reed, bark, and roots are shaped by human hands yet remain deeply tethered to their origins. Through the interweaving of ceramics and natural fibers, I explore the tension between permanence and impermanence, structure and softness, containment and expansion.
Liminal space, to me, is not only a physical condition but a psychological pull—a subtle invitation into the in-between. It is the suspended moment at dawn when light hesitates between night and day, the shifting boundary where land dissolves into water, or the fragile balance between ice, liquid, and air. These thresholds hold a quiet charge: they are familiar yet estranged, grounding yet disorienting. They ask us to linger in uncertainty.
The forms in this work echo those experiences. Fired clay vessels suggest stability, weight, and the human desire to hold and define. In contrast, woven elements—constructed from reed, bark, and root—remain porous, flexible, and alive with irregularity. Together, they create hybrid structures that neither fully enclose nor fully release. They exist as intermediaries, mirroring landscapes such as shorelines, forest edges, and other ecotones where one world gives way to another.
By manipulating natural materials, I am not attempting to dominate them, but to collaborate with their inherent tendencies. The clay remembers pressure and heat; the fibers retain the gestures of growth and decay. These materials carry their own histories of transformation, and in bringing them together, I aim to honour the quiet, continuous act of becoming.
This work invites viewers into a contemplative threshold—a space that resists resolution. It is a place of pause, where the known softens and the unknown begins to take shape. In this suspension, there is both unease and possibility. The liminal is not empty; it is charged with potential, holding the energy of change and the quiet promise of what comes next.
24x20”
Slab-built stoneware ceramic bark base, Foraged roots, Willow bark, Reed cane stained with roasted dandelion tea.
This work is an ode to the liminal—the threshold spaces where transformation quietly unfolds. It emerges from a dialogue between material and memory, where clay, reed, bark, and roots are shaped by human hands yet remain deeply tethered to their origins. Through the interweaving of ceramics and natural fibers, I explore the tension between permanence and impermanence, structure and softness, containment and expansion.
Liminal space, to me, is not only a physical condition but a psychological pull—a subtle invitation into the in-between. It is the suspended moment at dawn when light hesitates between night and day, the shifting boundary where land dissolves into water, or the fragile balance between ice, liquid, and air. These thresholds hold a quiet charge: they are familiar yet estranged, grounding yet disorienting. They ask us to linger in uncertainty.
The forms in this work echo those experiences. Fired clay vessels suggest stability, weight, and the human desire to hold and define. In contrast, woven elements—constructed from reed, bark, and root—remain porous, flexible, and alive with irregularity. Together, they create hybrid structures that neither fully enclose nor fully release. They exist as intermediaries, mirroring landscapes such as shorelines, forest edges, and other ecotones where one world gives way to another.
By manipulating natural materials, I am not attempting to dominate them, but to collaborate with their inherent tendencies. The clay remembers pressure and heat; the fibers retain the gestures of growth and decay. These materials carry their own histories of transformation, and in bringing them together, I aim to honour the quiet, continuous act of becoming.
This work invites viewers into a contemplative threshold—a space that resists resolution. It is a place of pause, where the known softens and the unknown begins to take shape. In this suspension, there is both unease and possibility. The liminal is not empty; it is charged with potential, holding the energy of change and the quiet promise of what comes next.
