The only thing that gets me out of bed every day after each setback is the ability of art and work to pull you out of total loneliness at least for a time. When I work, I finally find myself here and now without regretting the past and not fearing the future.
I still believe in soul mates as zealously as I have faith in that the only thing that distinguishes the real art and the real relationship from everything else is the thrill when touching it. It can be frightening, heartbreaking, uplifting, but it is always about extremely vivid emotions.
I grew up in a country where you aren't encouraged to talk about your feelings. This leads to a constant sense of separateness. And at a pretty mature age, you learn to feel the full range of emotions - not only a shame - afresh. It's easier for me to talk about my experiences through a distant object - it is that object suffering, not me. It is a vase that hates/loves everyone, not me.
I respect the clay for its "eternity". It is an age-old mud that finally drifts into your hands after years of wandering. It can remain a mess under your feet, or it can become a wall, a bird, a cloud, a rescue. And at the same time it's grounding because as soon as you think you've created something brilliant, the clay immediately reminds you that it's just dirt and you'll become it, too, millions of years later.
I work in hand moulding and casting techniques, and I experiment by combining them in one place. The contrast of a perfectly smooth porcelain surface and the texture of a fireclay stone mass makes it possible to create an animated object. I like to obliterate the distinction between the material surface and the surface of the human body. Objects come to life and lose their utilitarian functions, becoming interlocutors.
I love that I can mould my pressure point - words cannot describe it, but I can form it and display to others so that they can understand me. The gulf of misunderstanding becomes a little smaller.