In 1989, I came into contact with – touched – clay for the first time. This meeting took place in a small, local neighborhood pottery workshop in Queens, New York and my life has never been the same since. I was 30 years old at the time. Since that day, I have been playing, investigating, discovering, laughing, crying – and making love with clay. Touching this ancient substance of infinite possibilities always reminds me that this intuitive process can keep on evolving, or perhaps it has already evolved enough.

The pot, slowly coming into being, turns on its axis and then – suddenly – stops, transformed into a frozen image of a three dimensional object. Silence.

I strive for the simplicity of the ceramic form, for the eternal movement existing within and around it, the flowing rhythm of the space surrounding the piece’s lip, the contact of the form’s base with the earth – these are important elements of my work.

My daily life (as well as the region where I live – Israel) is comprised of opposites – as in my work. There may be one truth, but there are many angles from which this truth may be perceived.

I never studied the craft formally, and sometimes I sense that I could use more knowledge in this field. The independent learning, the patience, and the creative process I am constantly involved in leads me to an ever-deeper understanding of the clay, the form and – eventually- myself.

I relate to the ceramic process through my senses and emotions – from my heart, and therefore believe in letting the piece speak for itself.

I fire my kiln once a year, for 5-6 consecutive days. Throughout the year, I work on my own and with my great assistant –Nomi. However, once the loading of the kiln has begun, throughout the firing and up until the moment the pieces are taken out, a collaborative group journey ensues – a journey of individuals who join me, the kiln and the firing in a process of growth and creation. This energetic collaboration with fellow potters and friends never ceases to inspire me; it raises me up, gives me strength, and teaches me fascinating lessons about life. This journey and the internal processes it entails are very important for me – sometimes even more so than the final result – the pot.

My sources of inspiration are extremely diversebut I am especially attracted by the human body, nature (of course), the number 3, and the infinite. I seek out the perfect in the imperfect, and in my opinion, it is often the random imperfection of a pot that gives the piece its wholeness, its own individual perfection.

The unpredictable surface of the pot, as it emerges from the wood-firing reminds me to simply believe in the cosmic entity of Nature – the divine creation. When I open the kiln at the end of a firing, I experience the “birth” of my pots. I find myself excited, searching and learning – from that which can never be imitated, and accept the goodness of this new creation with love.

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