Earth Nidus began with my encounters with forms of nature that are easily overlooked in the city: plants growing through cracks, branches entangled with metal fences, and life taking hold in spaces designed for other purposes. These encounters informed my interest in natural phenomena and in the possibility of a mutated world continuing to grow beyond human intentions.

The series brings clay into contact with metal mesh, glaze, flock, and other manufactured materials. I push clay through the grid and allow the materials to affect one another during firing. The mesh may appear to contain or support the clay, yet the clay also spreads across it and changes its form. Their relationship recalls the meeting of organic growth and built structures in the city, where neither remains entirely separate from the other.

Across the works, this imagined ecology takes different forms. The vessels in Parallel World suggest nests or inhabitable spaces whose occupants remain unknown. The dense red surface of Earth Nidus Red makes growth feel both abundant and unsettling, while the green and crusted areas of Earth Nidus Green bring together signs we might read as vegetation, mineral, and industrial structure. Fragments reduces this world to a small piece, leaving its larger shape open to imagination.

Object-Oriented Ontology has informed my attempt to look beyond the human use of things and to take nonhuman objects and their relations seriously. In Earth Nidus, materials from nature and industry meet without one simply representing or serving the other. The works ask what might grow from their encounter—and why we so readily welcome some forms of life while finding others strange or difficult to accommodate.

In Oscillating, I bring clay into contact with industrial materials, including copper, iron, aluminium, metal mesh, metal oxides, quartz, and flock fibres. Rather than following a conventional sequence of bisque and glaze firings, I use repeated firings to intensify their reactions. Heat, shrinkage, melting, and fracture bring about changes that I can set in motion but cannot fully prescribe. The kiln compresses transformations that evoke geochemical processes into the time of making.

“Oscillation” describes the movement between collapse and formation within these works. Some metal melts or ruptures; other parts remain where clay shields them. Clay contracts, opens, and sometimes fuses again. I work with these changes through an anti-craft approach that leaves room for the materials to act. Clay becomes a participant in the process, recording the pressures and movements produced by its encounters with metal.

The resulting forms sit uneasily between geological residue, industrial debris, and something bodily. Across the series, pale crusts give way to pink or red interiors; cavities open through rough skins; metallic areas draw the eye towards what appears hidden or valuable. Oscillating 3.1 makes that attraction especially visible through its golden interior, while the small forms of 3.2 and 3.3 retain the suggestion of vessels or passages even as their possible functions become uncertain. The more extended forms of Oscillating 4 can appear like groups of bodies at one distance and fragments of terrain at another.

These shifts in scale and recognition matter to the work. An opening may look like a wound, a shelter, or a place of extraction, depending on how we approach it. The fractured skins and interior spaces are traces of material events, but they also invite us to notice how quickly we give those events familiar meanings. Oscillating asks what making becomes when material behaviour can redirect intention, and when a form holds several possible histories at once.

From Under the Sea began with thoughts about marine pollution, crude oil spills, and the industrial plans that increasingly shape the ocean. I was interested in a seascape formed by more than marine life alone: one in which human structures, released substances, and living organisms continually meet and alter one another.

The three works explore this encounter through ceramic forms that seem to flow, attach, divide, or grow beyond a stable outline. In Spillage, a dark form spreads outward, its coarse surface meeting areas of iridescent lustre. It holds the gesture of a spill after movement has stopped. The sheen attracts the eye, making the surface difficult to judge by appearance alone. Twinning places a pale and a dark form in an unequal relationship, connected by a visible chain. In Parasoma, the chain links forms that suggest bodily remnants or unfamiliar marine organisms. Connection may allow them to endure together, but it also carries weight and restraint.

Through clay, metal, oxides, lustre, and chain, I explore mutation as a material process and a visual uncertainty. A form can appear to be growing or deteriorating; an attachment can suggest symbiosis or dependence. These distinctions are difficult to hold steady in a sea shaped jointly by industrial activity and living things.

The series imagines what may emerge from that shared, altered environment. Its unfamiliar forms ask how we recognise life, damage, and survival when each can leave traces on the same body.