My sentinels silently stand their vigil, ever watchful, preparing to sound the klaxon, a bulwark against danger without and whirlwinds within. These survivors of the ceramic process challenge my mind not to look backward, and to mourn more briefly for those the kiln has taken. Products of the subconscious, they meld together the East and West in my nature. An awareness of my spine is in part the impetus for the finger-lapped hinges that bind my pieces together. The jointed form relates to a higher purpose, my fingers bound in prayerful hope, interlocking Lord and Master with sculptor and artist and to the broader human creation. The fortress-like quality blended with humanism manifests as an outlet that unites the precision of my creations with the frailties of flesh. Under the banner of that unity, I choose to march.
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