Form
from the deep

My first memory of clay came through my uncle, an artist, whose workshop was in the basement of my parents' sports store. I watched, I learned, and I am sure I annoyed. I have a vivid memory of always asking him when my clay mermaid was going to be ready. Anything ceramic takes time. For a 7-year-old, it felt like a never-ending wait, but how wonderful it was to have that little piece of art that felt even more special because someone I loved made it.

Many, many, years later, during that small global pandemic, my life changed. I left New York City and unexpectedly found my way to a small island in the Caribbean. I met real-life mermaids who changed my life forever. They helped me reclaim play, just making things because it brought me joy not because it needed to be anywhere or for anyone.

Over the last 6 years, I have lived in different parts of the world. What has always grounded me has been art. It has been an expression of that moment in time, a piece of the city, truly embodying who I was in that moment. Working with clay is a funny habit for someone who really doesn't live anywhere, but I found that it grounded me wherever I landed. If I had enough time to make something, I would.

Now, I live in Austin, Texas. I found a studio I love, and I get to make things for my beautiful friends and their new babies that live around the world. What better way to give them a piece of my heart than to create something from hand, that takes patience and intention — and from that, the idea evolved into Deep Form.