Natural materials gather in quiet communion: feathers fallen from birds’ wings, seashells ground to sand by endless tides, Spanish moss draped from the branches of live oak trees. They conspire with the earth, whispering the language of forgotten forests and distant shores. Each fragment, each grain, carries the weight of antiquity.
And there, just below the surface, lies clay—the earth’s own alchemist. It cradles secrets within its cool embrace, memories of rivers and mountains, of time’s patient hands shaping landscapes. Clay, molded by water and decay, full of latent potential, waiting for the potter’s touch to breathe life into vessels and sculptures.
Photos by Jesse Clark
