the dust motes dancing in the studio window, that single square of light a whole universe and it catches the glaze just so, like tiny stars exploding and i keep almost capturing it in a photo but it's never the same, the phone flattens it, steals the depth and the clay knows the depth, the way it shifts in the kiln, almost breathes, expanding and contracting so maybe that's it, maybe the clay is just trying to get back to star stuff, to that initial burst of creation and all we're doing is holding it back, shaping it, pretending we have control, and the collapse, the ugly crumpling is just… resistance, a reminder that it's still ALIVE.