See the new Artist's Book, Unearthed
The earth is a vessel, containing everything,
even what is only dreamed or unbuilt.
The lips of the vessel are the ridges of mountains,
its belly is blackened by fire, soothed by rain,
burnished from being touched, used, broken.
The vessel vibrates like an old yellowed soul, vivid, terrible, oracular.
The myths are true. We are made of clay – water and mineral.
We are vessels, formed from the inside out, and the outside in.
The ragged unseen interior supports the softened outer glaze.
In between them, some unnamable force
works the wet walls of our desire, pressing
the coiled hunger and longing into beautiful and transitory forms.
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