Right beside de hope
Working with porcelain means learning to make peace with disappointment—not to avoid it, but to give it a place, right beside hope.
First comes the familiar uncertainty of the kiln, the suspense that precedes the opening, where each piece is a well-kept secret, still warm. I had already grown used to the unpredictability of glazes—those promised colors that change their minds in the heat… But cracks, splits, clean breaks or sneaky ones—those I’m still discovering, each with a little twinge in my chest.
Ah, porcelain! Beautiful and rebellious, delicate as angel skin, yet so quick to fracture without warning. A true little troublemaker in a well-behaved disguise, sometimes leaving you with more crumbs than answers.
There’s that precise moment—that very first glimpse after the final firing—that can make the heart stumble: the pure joy of an intact miracle… or the stunned silence of a piece in fragments. Every kiln opening is a held breath, a raw emotion. Sometimes it’s euphoria, sometimes a quiet mourning.
And yet, even in failure, there is a strange beauty. These shards tell a story. The story of a gesture, a dream, an intention that—broken or not—did exist.
