Passing tradition forward to my grandchildren–a tiny micaceous pot.

My studio space in New Mexico. Tucked backed in the hills of Taos County, on fifty acres, I was enveloped in sanctuary. Every element was food for the soul. A quiet world of ancient land where the grandmother spirits visited and the coyotes held vigil. At first dawn, a flurry of birds would bring song to the start of day. At first dawn, I would sit in practice, my morning meditation fueled by the beauty of this place. A simple breakfast and then into the studio to form the belly of the mother–which, upon firing, becomes the water jar or cooking vessel.

The gift of time, space, and local generosity to bring fruition to a dream.