First, there are the animals… every morning, check that all is well… then go to the studio, and get back to things beyond the world’s tumults. Writing, drawing, shaping.. I like to tell myself that, with a minimum of work, I can fire anywhere, I can shape anywhere, I can build anywhere. While curiously and contradictorily, I know that I have to stop, to anchor myself somewhere to try and catch a piece of the global nature of the world around me. This is a question of time: building my roots season after season. I am not a nomad. I stay in the sedentary tradition of ceramics, the one that binds me to the studio, the one that keeps me coming back. There is nothing else to do but work. Making things. But making them with little, by escaping as much as possible from expensive technologies and their aberrant logic, to return to the first meaning of the materials, because everything is already there: in the earth, in the grass, in the trees in front of the house. All you need is to bend down! Grasping the materials with both hands, kneading them and trying to transcend them through a kiln’s fire, reduced to its simplest expression. Everything is fired, then, at low temperatures. The slips are diluted to the point of melding into an unexpected and always surprising mix. All that remains is to accept, or not, the result. To decide that the piece is finished, or simply to re-fire it to restart the fragile dialogue between form and colour.