To plunge your hands into the clay is to build and preserve a world of your own, sheltered from the frenzy
of the one who surrounds us. It is an animal, carnal act where the gesture paradoxically says the human.
It reveals the issue of the body and its impact in clay. The soft material that I stretch under my fingers
becomes skin, bone, an invisible and underground universe made of tendons and muscles. It is fragile
and ephemeral, but I walk there as I walk along a path that smells like peat and envelops me.
Sometimes I push in the parts of my body: contact with matter is a way of being in the world at all costs.