Warm like skin and soft like toffee,
Easy to pull but hard to crack,
A pliable piece of parchment for us to play,
A memorable medium for us to mark meaning,
These silica sheets will sculpt your soft synapses.
They will lick to your knuckles and cling to your hair,
They will make your hands soft and your wrists sore,
Drawing you in as you open up,
Feel the matter enter your bloodstream,
Feel it pulse in your being.
Raw clay claws at the ripest thoughts and
Muddled concepts become draped in puddles of mud,
Creating ceramic forms we imagine cerebral figures,
We let the material become vitrified in the voices of our minds,
To define yourself as a ceramicist is to let clay define you,
To let clay give form to us as we have given form to it.
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