I create ceramic objects that are born at the border of sleep and wakefulness, in the twilight of consciousness—places where logic no longer operates and images emerge on their own: abandoned labyrinthine castles where there is nowhere to hide, semi-ruined houses with colonnades that recede and become narrower and narrower, self-contained forms, stone plants, clusters of nocturnal energy and thoughts. These states are elusive, but in clay I try to give them weight, density, and almost corporeal presence.
Fear, loneliness, uncertainty, weightlessness, uncontrolled growth, being stuck—these images do not come in words; they appear as forms, volumes, inner voids. What interests me is not just fantasy but the very moment of transition, when consciousness softens and something primal surfaces: fear, memory, tension in the body. I sculpt by hand, rarely using tools, so that the form retains its inner tremor and vibration, imperfection, a sense of dampness and fog. In dreams, there is no need for words—everything exists through sensations.
My objects are frozen fragments of a nocturnal dialogue. The conversation is unfinished: meaning hovers in the air, the answer is elusive—but that is not the point. What matters is the process itself. I try to hear myself through another voice. In ceramics, I do not create a meaning—I create a field in which meaning may emerge.