Each sculpted piece begins as a lump of cool clay, made of fine metal particles—often recycled bronze—suspended in an organic binder. I mix in water, kneading and sculpting, letting the material guide me rather than forcing an outcome. When I try to impose too much control, the piece resists. The best work comes when I surrender to the process, working with the clay instead of against it.

Once sculpted, the piece is set out to dry under the warmth of the sun, hardening over several days. What was once soft and malleable becomes hard and fragile, on the verge of transformation.

Then comes fire. The kiln’s heat pulls the piece through a two-step metamorphosis—first burning away the binder, leaving behind a delicate skeleton of metal, then sintering it into something solid and enduring. What emerges is no longer clay but solid bronze, heavy with permanence, shaped by heat and time.

After firing, I refine the piece—tumbling it to strengthen the surface, then hand-polishing to bring out its depth and luster. Each mark, each texture, each imperfection tells the story of its making.

No two pieces are ever the same. Each carries the memory of its creation—sculpted by hand, transformed by fire, and finished with intention.