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I make pots in a small independent studio in amsterdam


I work alone. 


I try to execute principles of non violence when it comes to ceramics, so everything is rather slow. 


I can see water outside my window. there is a shipyard around the corner and I could be watching newly built ships float away if only I sat there a century or so ago. hélas, the shipyard is dead but reincarnated as an industrial hipster art space. life goes on.  



I call my studio the hutje (шалашик). it is a very tender word.

I have a papasan chair in the hutje, which was a very very very big mistake. it sits there and lures me in to curl up in its softness.


I try to plan things in advance (seven years in the netherlands teach one to appreciate their agenda) so if you want to pass by to pick things up or for a visit, drop me a message and we will find a date and time.


I (torture) grow plants in the hutje  and I am trying rather desperately not to kill them. as of now most of them are in a comatose state. maybe they are just hibernating for the winter? despite everything I still aspire to be a plant person one day. how many will die in this quest only the future will show.



the owl arrived. thank you.

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