​This island, this place that holds me in its grasp,

I embrace it.

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We live amid a sea of anonymous objects, disconnected from place, history, identity. A phenomenon rooted in the legacies of our history and the commodification of material culture. We are surrounded by land, by soil, that is everywhere yet unseen, unnoticed except for the mud that dirties our shoes.

But what happens when that ordinary mud transforms, becoming a unique handmade piece? When the mundane metamorphoses into a color never before seen?

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I felt the urge to dig. To dig holes, to shovel, to excavate.

I explored the land of my island, seeking its richness, its unique character. With geologists by my side, I wanted to understand the variety of our soil, its colors, its textures. In Midlands, Chamarel, Sainte-Croix, or Choisy, I walked with a small shovel in hand, collecting soil samples on my journeys. Back in my studio, I experimented, testing the nature of our clays to uncover the shapes it could take, the colors it could hold.

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I felt the urge to dig. To search, to study,

to delve deeper, to question.

I wanted to create objects from our soil, to give form to a place, to shape this memory of the earth, to give tangible form to the stories embedded within it. These objects tell so many stories, our history.

By shaping them, a dialogue begins, a sort of reclamation of the narrative of our place. They encourage me to question what surrounds me, to reconsider my relationship with our environment, our shared belonging to this land. Let us embark on this journey together, to unearth and reimagine our shared heritage.