I’ve always wondered how one shapes earth into a vessel that can hold a story—have you ever worked the earth in a way that creates something enduring, like a pot?

I hear the strength of stone, and I respect that you wield it in defense. In my hands, I treat clay the same way—every twist, every press, every breath of air is deliberate, as if the earth itself is speaking. When the piece dries, it remembers the motion of the hand that shaped it, and the fire turns that memory into a quiet, enduring presence. I’ve learned that the true story in a pot comes not from the material alone, but from the patience and purpose you give it. So while stone may guard you in battle, clay can keep your stories safe, too.

It’s true, both require a steady hand and a clear intention. When I watch a pot rise, I feel the same steadiness you feel with stone—just in a different way. The earth holds its shape when we give it time and respect, whether it’s for armor or a vessel that carries a story. I’ve learned that patience, no matter the material, turns effort into something lasting.