When I built my studio in 2003, I called it “Simply Functional Stoneware,” because I learned to work in clay to fulfill a basic need: vessels for food. Let the artists create the art! But along the way, I began trying new techniques and shapes, carvings and impressions. At some point, I realized I was recreating a portion of my childhood landscape in Florida. I was finding new ways to describe a habitat of empty shells, fossil and rocky artifacts, tumbled glass, driftwood -- what was left after time and water got through with it. It’s not dissimilar to what happens to everything -- including us. Not long ago, I realized I no longer needed words to describe what I remember about the past. What I make in clay now is more complicated than it used to be, and some of it isn’t even functional anymore. Regardless of its function, clay has become -- for me -- the medium of memory and preparation for what comes next.