About
1 to 100 — A Year in Matter
This series began with a simple protocol: to repeat the same gesture over the course of a year, and observe what time, material and the human hand transform along the way.
One hundred pieces. One hundred moments. One hundred traces of a dialogue between a constructed form and the forces that act upon it.
Each volume is made according to a precise system: assembled slabs, repeated gestures, a set of rules that provides structure. Yet within this controlled space, variations emerge — tension in the clay, a mark left by the hand, a trace of oxide, an unpredictable reaction in the kiln.
These differences are not mistakes to be corrected. They are witnesses to a moment.
Each piece becomes the seismograph of a particular morning. It records something otherwise invisible: the state of my hands, the rhythm of my work, my hesitations, my concentration, and the encounter between my gesture and the resistance of the material.
As the months pass, the technique evolves. The hand learns and the eye becomes more precise, yet the challenge remains the same: to preserve a place for accident, for the unexpected, for what escapes control.
A slip, gradually enriched with oxides, accompanies this research. It carries something of the pieces that came before and creates an invisible continuity throughout the series — a trace of accumulated time.
Each work has its own number and archive: its date, observations, technical choices and the circumstances of its making.
This series, then, is not a collection of identical objects.
It is the record of a year spent with matter.
An attempt to reveal not the perfection of a finished result, but the fragile beauty of a process — that of a maker in dialogue with his own ecosystem.
One hundred pieces. One hundred moments. One hundred traces of a dialogue between a constructed form and the forces that act upon it.
Each volume is made according to a precise system: assembled slabs, repeated gestures, a set of rules that provides structure. Yet within this controlled space, variations emerge — tension in the clay, a mark left by the hand, a trace of oxide, an unpredictable reaction in the kiln.
These differences are not mistakes to be corrected. They are witnesses to a moment.
Each piece becomes the seismograph of a particular morning. It records something otherwise invisible: the state of my hands, the rhythm of my work, my hesitations, my concentration, and the encounter between my gesture and the resistance of the material.
As the months pass, the technique evolves. The hand learns and the eye becomes more precise, yet the challenge remains the same: to preserve a place for accident, for the unexpected, for what escapes control.
A slip, gradually enriched with oxides, accompanies this research. It carries something of the pieces that came before and creates an invisible continuity throughout the series — a trace of accumulated time.
Each work has its own number and archive: its date, observations, technical choices and the circumstances of its making.
This series, then, is not a collection of identical objects.
It is the record of a year spent with matter.
An attempt to reveal not the perfection of a finished result, but the fragile beauty of a process — that of a maker in dialogue with his own ecosystem.