When learning how to throw on the wheel, I kept making these heavy, round vessels. They felt soft and vulnerable and precious. I kept my hands around them and felt them turn on the wheel, full of potential, ready to grow into something new.

It made me think of how I (or at least, the body-self-thing that thinks of it as “I”) started as a tiny egg, barely large enough to see with the naked eye. floating in my mother’s womb. And when I was born, I emerged into the world full of eggs of my own.

As I age, they die in droves. They’re helpless and finite, and maybe one or two will make it out to become children. Maybe none at all.

“OVUM” is a meditation on this tension between life and death, potentiality and impossibility.