Years ago I was asked to write something about my work. I tried to avoid the present.

That time it seemed to me, it wasn´t possible for me to write about my pots by myself.

I described what zigzag ways I went going to become a potter, because it is a quite interesting story.

I used the sentence, that I was always looking for good pots in that time, before I arrived and settled in Techentin! If I am thinking about that, the same sentence still seems to go. I´ve never stopped the search for good pots (also for other).

And I am fascinated (captivated?), how especially the ceramics being subject to change. What flood of influences, what diversity!

So the life inexorable is going on, makes breathless - also by feeling amazement and deep luck by seeing a pot, who makes the heart jumping, the eyes sparkeling!

My longing seems to long for very simple silent pots. In the face of the ocean of the already being, I feel like some colleague the challenge of finding my own expression.

A long life task: not to capitulate, continue the search, to bear the frustration of the non success outcome and to walk in the same place (also the solitude of the workshop life).

Make a pot what units much in one: It should be thrown fresh, full of tension. The choice of the clay should match to the kind of firing process and the thing what is made from it, the glaze might wrap it right and be a fitting robe. The adventure of the handles! To go without painting? Does the whole thing work for its user?

And the pot should be as simple as possible in the moment of my making.