The way of stones

They have always been there, about my person. In the corner of a forgotten pocket, an interesting pile that catches my eye as I wake. A quiet row amongst the unruly plants in the garden.

The many footsteps I have wandered along shoreline, coast, hill, forest or limestone scar always reveal something that finds it way to my pocket.

Stones kept from childhood, memories, places, people. The journey of the stone paused for my lifetime rescued from it's demise for a short while. For once was rock, turns to stone, then dust and the cycle begins once more.

Making pale imitations of nature's wonders somehow felt wrong, like I could never do justice to the perfect stones that found me but as I struggled with a form that I felt I could work with I decided in this strange world of lockdown and lack of wandering to create my own stones to pile up, rearrange and roll between my fingers.

I have worked the bowls. I wanted the bowl to work, it is without a doubt my most beloved shape but there was always something just not right, it didn't say what I needed it too. It didn't whisper to me.

The stones spoke to me and as this interruption to the everyday continues I am going with the stones, the flow, the shapes that capture my heart....

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