Fallen Angel feels like a relic from a celestial collapse — a winged form turned to earth, its folds and ridges holding the memory of flight. The textured surface ripples like weathered hide or eroded stone, capturing the moment when something divine becomes grounded. This piece carries both weight and vulnerability, a sculptural echo of a mythic creature brought down to rest.
 
Fallen Angel wasn’t engineered — it was discovered. The clay told me what it wanted as I worked: where it was willing to fold, where it resisted, where it needed to tear a little to feel honest. I pressed and lifted and opened the form only when the clay felt ready, letting gravity shape the wings and the hollows. Every ridge, crease, and opening came from responding to the clay’s mood in the moment — its softness, its tension, its desire to slump or stand. The piece emerged the way creatures do in my studio: slowly, intuitively, by listening instead of forcing.