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These two thrown pitchers are vessels made to hold, pour, serve, and replenish. Their forms suggest usefulness and abundance, yet they sit empty. The glaze moves over them like something spilling past the rim as though they are overflowing from within. For me, this contradiction speaks to motherhood. Motherhood is often imagined as endless giving: a body, a home, a source that is always available. It can feel beautiful, instinctive, and full of purpose, but also draining in ways that are difficult to name. These pitchers hold that tension. They appear saturated, alive, and brimming, while their interiors remain hollow. They are both generous and depleted. The paired forms reflect the repetitive nature of care: pouring out, filling up, pouring out again. Their irregular edges, curled handles, and pooling glaze resist perfection. They carry evidence of touch, weight, and labor. They are domestic objects, but they are also emotional ones. In this work, emptiness is the quiet space left after giving. It is the interior life of the mother, often unseen beneath the surface of abundance.

Thrown Stoneware.