The ruins can be understood as the true survivors. While other things continue to be transmitted, such as life or ideas, the ruins are the remains that resisted change, mutate, transform, adapt or migrate into other entities. Causing them like this, that rigidity, an apparently tragic destiny and perhaps already definitive. In return, what remains of them is the same as they were and will always be until they fall apart.
So, in the same way that happens with an aqueduct pierced by infinite wars with monumental arches that, like a miracle, nobody understands that they can even resist standing after countless sieges not only by enemies, but above all by time, powerful where there are, that nobody he wins battle and ruins everything; The bowls are also often ruins, the result of dealing with fire that deforms, explodes or melts them, makes them magma, pulverizes them, stains them, cracks and grooves or tears off pieces of their ceramic flesh. And when they were not victims of the flames, fearful of an ever present omnipresent gravity that serpentinely seems to call them.
But if one day they were to become ruins, it really would not be so tragic, because perhaps something beautifies and inspires more than ruins among so much daily life? Because they are that unaltered message that speaks of a past, a story that succumbed, but that lived and somehow continues to be because it is in front of you at this moment.