fresh out the fire

Many long days that stretched into nights were spent under baking hot sun in solid, severe silence. Held by clay mother, I built and scraped and sanded and polished. I mended and cracked and burned and glowed... Allowing the alchemy of earth and water to change me.

As I worked with the clay, I slowly rebuilt the body of my own vessel in order to rehouse my spirit in a time of such unknown. All gracias to the legendary Rabbitman, devoted custodian to the ancient tradition of Jicarilla Apache micaceous clay pottery. Grateful for hands in service to beauty, old ways, reciprocity, remembering.