The Art of Not Knowing

Shaping a Soul in Clay

She began as nothing more than a wire frame, cable ties, and a whisk — whatever I could find to improvise volume.

From there, I started layering clay, shaping the abstract into the suggestion of a head. At first, it was all structure — skeletal, raw, almost eerie. A formless silhouette slowly found its foundation.

Then, gradually, the features began to emerge: the ridge of a brow, the lift of a cheekbone, the curve of a lip. I built her like you’d build a thought — uncertain, emotional, slow. Eventually I added her hair, shaped her ears, refined the details.

Once the clay is at the right state or firmness, its the moment of cutting- I sliced her open at the forehead and hollowed her out, removing her from the armature that held her.

She’s not finished. Not yet. But she’s taking shape — the second in a series of sculptural heads, each one unique, each one carrying its own presence. The first became Gaia: glazes ran down her face like constellations, like satellite images of Earth.

This one... I don’t know yet who she’ll be. I’m caught between instincts — do I carve intricate patterns into her, abstract her features, make her wild? Or do I honour the delicacy of her face? Do I lean into crystalline glazes or florals or something entirely new?

This is the space I love and fear — the no-man’s-land between vision and outcome. Clay teaches humility. Once she enters the kiln, everything changes. The heat will decide as much as I do. Sometimes the piece returns transformed. Sometimes it doesn’t return at all. And sometimes, when I open the kiln and lift my sculpture out, I have to just sit with it — quietly, for a while. What I put in and what I take out are often two different beings. I sit there and observe, trying to absorb what happened inside the kiln — to make peace with the transformation, even when it's breathtaking. It takes time to understand the creation again. To admire not just the form, but the alchemy — the heat, the chemistry, and the change. That’s the magic of it. The surrender. The collaboration with fire, form, physics, and time. I shape her — but in the end, she chooses who she becomes.