Sara Gaston Huey

My parents’ garden grew from soft loam, rich with volcanic ash, except for one clay patch under the laurel hedge. This was my first ceramics studio. When I was small enough to fit inside the hedgerow this was a place where only the things I wanted to happen, happened. Decades later, on a different continent, I’ve found that place again. Ceramics is where I gather errant thoughts and place them in clay. Time slips into the here and now as each piece takes shape in my head and heart. The past echoes, experiences meld, feelings emerge. With my hands in clay, myths, symbols and stories shared over generations mingle with glimpses of cultures other than my own.