I create ceramic objects that are born at the border between sleep and wakefulness, in the twilight of consciousness — where logic no longer applies, and images surface on their own: abandoned castle-labyrinths where one cannot hide, half-destroyed houses with colonnades that stretch into the distance and become ever narrower, forms that close in on themselves, stone plants, clusters of nighttime energy and thoughts. These states are elusive, but in clay, I try to give them weight, density, almost a corporeality.
Fear, loneliness, uncertainty, weightlessness, uncontrollable growth, stagnation — these images cannot be expressed in words; they are forms, masses, voids inside.
I am interested not simply in fantasy, but in the moment of transition between sleep and wakefulness, when consciousness begins to weaken, and images emerge whose nature I do not fully understand. This is unconscious, like the memory of the body or its tension, but the meaning of these images remains unclear. They are images that are hard to interpret and seem to be something profound and therefore mysterious.
I shape with my hands, almost never using tools, so the form retains its inner tremor, vibration, imperfection, the feeling of dampness and mist. In dreams, words are not needed, everything is built on sensations.
My objects are frozen fragments of a nightly dialogue. It is unfinished: the meaning hangs in the air, the solution is not found — and that is not so important, what matters is the process of the conversation itself. I am trying to hear myself through another voice. In ceramics, I do not create meaning — I create a space where that meaning can manifest.