Clay speaks a language of memory, fragility, and resilience. In my work, I engage with it as both material and metaphor — a vessel for emotion, time, and transformation.

My practice is rooted in a deep respect for process. I rarely begin with a fixed plan. Instead, I allow the clay to guide me — to crack, resist, collapse, and reveal. This surrender to unpredictability is essential to my work. It is where I find truth.

I am drawn to contradictions: strength and delicacy, containment and rupture, beauty and decay. Much of what I create exists between sculpture and utility — objects that can be held, used, or simply observed. They are quiet meditations on form, echoing ancient rituals and organic phenomena, yet shaped by the anxieties and textures of contemporary life.

After years of living between Beirut and Montreal, I’ve come to understand space — both physical and emotional — as something in constant negotiation. My studio in Beirut, once shattered by an explosion, became a site of rebuilding and reimagining. That rupture taught me to listen even more carefully to the silences in clay — to what is broken, and what remains.

I believe that ceramics, in their most honest form, carry the imprint of the human hand — not just as a trace, but as a gesture of care, vulnerability, and insistence. My work is an attempt to hold these qualities in balance, one piece at a time.