Our daily bowl

When the potter shapes the clay, he does so thanks to the plasticity that the right amount of water gives it. The exact point of humidity, accor...

It is possible that what we truly are is what can never be taken from us. The potter is not, then, by his wheel; as the monk is not by his habit...

We play to feel the qualities of a foreign reality. On our skin we experience the heat of third parties, the pressure of a hug, the hardness of ...

Sliding our fingers over the face of a ceramic bowl, placing our lips next to his, discovering through touch what surface characterizes him, we ...

Living beings communicate in a multitude of ways, each more beautiful. The birds sing, the cats purr, the flowers are colored, the bees produce ...

A black spirit has possessed my hands. At night, when he takes me, it takes on the subtle pellet shape of a dark manganese mud. It blends in wit...

The mud paints the skin the color of my brothers; magical power and happy hands that are well dressed in Indian, Nordic, Oriental or African ton...

Pleasure, patience, knowing how to enjoy her, enjoying by her side. See your hands full of soft mud. Appreciate the contrast of its colors with ...

The potter steps on the wheel and works to shape a pot with his hands. Perhaps this is the most iconic image of all those that revolve around cl...