I kick the potter's wheel to form the shape of clay.
I shave down the clay of the bottom of the cup with wood spatula.
The moment comes when I casually put wood spatula down.
I gently hold up a small cup to my eyes.
I verify that a blank must be there.
In my childhood, my role was to collect the freshly laid eggs from the henhouse. I still remember the feel of their warm roundness on the palm of my hands. I also cannot forget that I played with stones in the brook, turning them over and stacking them up. Today, my atelier is near the ocean. A variety of materials wash up on the beach. I observe them, pick them up, and feel them. The memories of these things that I have seen and felt accumulate and overlap on my heart and hands. And, shape emerges from them. All my works are from my experience.