This is a bowl that can't hold much of anything. It's all form, no function. Made of foam, full of tiny holes, collapsing under the weight of basically anything you put in it. I love that about it. I made this piece as a kind of ode to play, to color and softness, but also as a portrait of something more familiar: the form of a vessel expected to give endlessly, to always have room for more, yet structurally unable to hold another thing. I think we spend a lot of time asking what things are for, what we are for. But take function out of the equation entirely, and what's left? The answer might be color, and softness, and the simple pleasure of taking up space.
This is a bowl that can't hold much of anything. It's all form, no function. Made of foam, full of tiny holes, collapsing under the weight of basically anything you put in it. I love that about it. I made this piece as a kind of ode to play, to color and softness, but also as a portrait of something more familiar: the form of a vessel expected to give endlessly, to always have room for more, yet structurally unable to hold another thing. I think we spend a lot of time asking what things are for, what we are for. But take function out of the equation entirely, and what's left? The answer might be color, and softness, and the simple pleasure of taking up space.