A field of riceflowers, each made from delicate rice-serving bowls—bowls for the soul, cocoons of protection, vessels to nourish. The lightness and challenge of working with edible rice paper captured my heart. Magic tugs at me with silken cords.

The material transforms before my eyes: soft, flexible, transparent, shifting like skin—then brittle, fragile, like thin glass. It acts on its own, guided by humidity, heat, and movement. Each bowl lives: it breathes, sweats, whispers in cracking sounds. Its weight is the weight of a soul. Over time, the bowl curls inward, preserving what once entered.

Arranged like a king’s feast, each bowl waits. Those who come choose the vessel that calls to them, unlocking the subversive intent hidden within. The colors bloom from beets; the paintings arise from other natural pigments—organic, sustainable, edible. And when the bowls are shattered, they return to tiny shards of rice, back to the earth from which they came.

2024