Raku is one of my deepest passions. There is nothing exact about it — in raku, two plus two never equals four. Every firing is an encounter between intention and uncertainty, where fire, air and time take part in the final result.

Building my own kiln has become part of the process itself: creating a space to work outdoors, to follow the rhythm of heat, smoke and reduction.

What draws me to raku is precisely what cannot be controlled. The marks left by fire, the unexpected surfaces, the tension between fragility and transformation. I’m fascinated by the chaos that emerges during firing and reduction — that brief moment where matter changes and something impossible to fully predict appears.

For me, raku feels like pure magic.