It is only in the silence of my studio that my creation can take shape. Everyday functional ware that hold in the hand. Silent and message-transmitting statuettes. Porcelain ware or stoneware, sober, unique and sleek; discreet and poetic. Decorations of trees, colors in simple touches, photographic transfers. Nothing noisy. A small sketch done vaguely in a small circle notebook after a short night.
But behind this discretion lies the rigor of the scientist. I note, I explore, I weigh, I test. Always looking for new recipes of clay, slip, oxides, glaze. A chemist’s past that pursues me. As a child, I was constantly mixing colors of chalk powder with water in small bottles and played hours to find the perfect match. I now realize that my experiments are not far from this juvenile habit.
After the rigor of the calculation, it is the rigor of the gesture. Porcelain throwing requires patience and concentration. Miles of practice so that at the end as the spinning dervish, the gesture becomes hypnosis. I love the demand of this clay beyond its softness. You must have an eye on it constantly, incubate it and determine the precise moment to shape, bring back, fix or turn.
And recently, I was again interested in casting. A casting table has been waiting in my studio for about ten years. After a training with my former teacher, I went back to making plaster molds. I was so glad to make such thin ware.
It's not finished. Remains the determining part of the decoration. I have always liked sleek lines where only the stroke as the gesture fills the space like Japanese prints. That’s why I opted for a simple brush color line like a calligrapher posed against a simple drawing decal.
After a very slow drying, the important part of firing. Organ point where everything is concentrated. The defects as well as the qualities are enhanced, magnified by the glaze that will envelop the whole with its satin, its softness and its brilliance.
For some, it is like a pagan celebration where everyone dances around the fire. For me, it is above all the solitary waiting in front of a hermetically sealed kiln waiting until the temperature drops to dare to open without breaking. I’m trying in vain to do something else, to forget the kiln. Nothing does, I keep coming back, trampling in front, opening and finally discovering… the fruits of my labour.
Sketched collections
Stories in the Making
They are born from memories, tiny details, or a seasonal obsession. I always carry a camera with me — whether I’m traveling far or just going for a walk. I collect snapshots like others collect stones in their pockets: leaves, shadows, light... I call it material in the making. And then, one day, without warning, it resurfaces. As if it were always meant to be. The Prunier collection was born that way, from photographic work. Then came the insects, with their graphic, almost surreal wings — especially the dragonflies, with their delicate veins, like engravings. The Promeneurs series began on the phone, with little doodles scribbled absentmindedly. Rough silhouettes, like tiny scenes of life, or quiet daydreams. As for the Cats, they whispered to me the idea of capturing those inimitable poses they strike with such nonchalant grace — in a world where nothing ever seems rushed.
From Elsewhere, Within
And then there’s travel —
Je suis née avec une valise pas loin. Mes parents voyageaient beaucoup, et j’ai grandi en Asie, ne posant mes valises en France qu’à l’âge de 10 ans. Ensuite, chaque année, deux à trois mois d’évasion. Ces allers-retours m’ont façonnée, nourrie, portée. L’Australie m’a profondément marquée. Un pays à la fois proche et déroutant : la vie semble familière, mais les moineaux sont remplacés par des perroquets, les cerfs par des kangourous. C’est comme voir le monde avec des lunettes déréglées. Et ce peuple autochtone presque invisible et pourtant si présent par sa sagesse et son savoir. Et puis le Mexique, le choc culturel ! Quelle civilisation ! Ces temples gigantesques au milieu de la forêt. Et puis tellement d’autres pays et d’ailleurs. Ces civilisations qui nous poussent à déplacer notre regard occidental centré.
Time, Paused
Then came the lockdowns.
Deux confinements ont passé par là… et avec eux, deux nouvelles collections ont vu le jour : Marguerite, en hommage à ce printemps étrange où les fleurs poussaient malgré tout. Envol, née d’une balade en bord de mer, juste avant le deuxième confinement. Un besoin d’air, de légèreté, de ciel ouvert.
Other Whispers
Then came the Koï — quiet, serene, meditative. The Cactus collection followed a journey to Mexico, inspired by its raw elegance and sharp light. And finally, my busts of women — a tribute to the friendships that have carried me, the strong and gentle presences who’ve walked beside me for over forty years.
A panel of colors
I could hardly imagine a world without colors. I love all of them !
Making ceramic colors is the result of a long work of weighing and firing. It's just the moment to take the time to do things.
Each color has its own story. Mustard, for example, was the color of the first clay I used in my first studio. I loved its color when it was still a little raw, not completely dry, leather hard as we say. It was taking the light in a wonderful way. When I got that mustard color back, I was thrilled.
In love with colors, I even developed this Berlingot collection consisting of a camayeu of color in red, blue or pink tones laid in lines or freely caligraphized. The Traces collection, too, is in that vein. I like the idea of the Soulage gesture.
