The bowls, which one day were clay and today are fine ceramics, share characteristics with those of us who have the pleasure of using them. Surely these coincidences are nothing more than our reflection, a necessarily human projection on what surrounds and envelops us. Thus, one of many coincidences, the need for heat to find ourselves full characterizes both of us. In this way, clay would never become ceramic without the transfer of heat from that flame that makes all its particles vibrate internally, consolidating them and giving them those definitive ceramic properties. Are we different?

We see the bowls and the world with the same eyes and feel it with the same heart, whether we want to or not. In the oven chamber it does not happen the same as when we talk about that other ardor that melts or burns us, that is obvious. And the relationship is only in our perhaps too poetic imagination, longing for signs, for messages that tell us about what worries us and that at least illusorily satisfy our desires and desires. It is tempting to see what one wants, even if it is only a fiction; and justify with that esotericism what happens to us, discharging responsibilities. But at least, when what you project is the result of a creation, materialized in those pieces of pottery in the shape of a container, there is an inevitably true message, the one that you write.

Cover image: Goya, F. , circa 1820. Old men eating soup . Oil on wall, transferred to canvas , Museo del Prado, Madrid .