This bowl came into being completely unplanned. One day, I simply went to try out a new tool for hollowing wood. I took a piece of log that had originally been intended for the stove and began testing how the tool cut into the material, how it felt in the hand and what it could do.
It was not a prepared design or a project thought out in advance. It was only a test of the tool, a first contact with the material and simple curiosity. Gradually, however, I noticed that something interesting was beginning to emerge beneath my hands. The shape started to reveal itself, the wood began to show its direction, and I became more attentive.
From that moment on, it was no longer just about testing the tool, but about a quiet conversation with the material. Without a precise plan, I continued working, allowing myself to be guided by the form, the grain of the wood and what was gradually appearing.
In the end, a bowl emerged with a soft organic line and a strong rhythm in its decoration. The motif that appeared on it reminds me of certain signs and flowing lines from the Indigenous cultures of Oceania, especially Māori art — not as a copy, but as a distant echo of something archetypal that arose naturally during the work itself.
From a piece of wood meant to be burned, an object with an entirely different fate came into being. The bowl became a testimony to the fact that creation sometimes does not begin with a plan, but with attention — the ability to pause at the moment when the material begins to speak.
