"I beat with my fist the porcelain on the table.
As the clouds in the sky,
so the sharp lines blur into a haze that will disappear.
What remains is the picture on my retina,
projected on a backdrop of memories.
I'm standing on my feet on the ground and I stamp in the clay.
There in the Middle, so close and so far away.
The drawings will be fired.
So it has to bee.
The result is a rigid extract of my experience of making.
And then, there is that Wretched with his arms wide forever ...
How to make the vulnerable strong without sacrificing the soul? "