ABOUT - BI0
I do not belong to any one place. I was shaped by a journey—by the crossing of landscapes, languages, and lineages. What grounds me is not geography, but gesture: the act of making, the touch of clay, the alchemy of fire.
I work with my hands as a way of listening—to memory, to materials, to the intangible heritage carried across time. As an artist, curator, and researcher in glazing, I see craft as a living archive—one that must be held with care, studied with rigor, and passed on with humility.
My hands are the space where knowledge circulates. Here, ancient techniques meet contemporary experimentation. Here, endangered traditions are remembered and renewed. I move slowly, with discipline and imagination, knowing that beauty must be honest, and that transmission is a responsibility.
I carry the voices of those who came before me—and shape what I offer, for those yet to come.
I was entrusted with knowledge by masters whose practices are both rooted and radical. Among them: Dominique Le Gros in France, Robert Shiozaki in Canada, Master Lee Hyangkoo Icheon Korea and Hyangjong in jeju Korea, and Moondobang Seoul Korea. Their teachings live in my hands, not as repetition, but as transformation.
ARTIST STATEMENT
Ceramist | Curator | Keeper of Living Traditions
Clay, like memory, is soft at first—shaped by the hands that hold it, marked by every gesture, fracture, and silence. I see it not as an object to perfect, but as a body to listen to. A record of pressure. A site of resilience.
I create vessels to hold memory—clay forms that carry silence, tension, and devotion. My work is deeply tied to a life lived across cultures: born in Morocco, shaped by France since age 2, now living between France and Canada, and transformed by time spent in Korea and Japan, learning techniques from masters.
I have never belonged to one tradition, and perhaps that’s what defines me—I move between worlds, stitching together the threads that connect us all through earth, fire, and ritual. I carry the echoes of my teachers across the world, who entrusted me with techniques both precise and poetic—reminding me always: tradition lives when it adapts with care.
My pieces are quiet on the outside, but they speak. They carry the memory of women potters in the Rif Mountains who first shaped earth by instinct. They echo the long, meditative lines of Korean Ongi, Buncheong, and celadon that I studied directly in Icheon, Jeju, and Japan. Each technique required humility. The vessel stands only when you know how to listen to it. To rush is to break. To force is to lose the form. Like raising a child, you shape with patience, or you risk collapse. This became my meditation, my philosophy. My masters passed on more than just technique—they passed on presence.
As a curator and founder of ZGalleryArts, I weave these insights into every exhibition I shape. I do not separate making from meaning. I believe in slow looking, in deep archives, and in presenting works that hold stories across time and cultures—where contemporary voices meet ancient echoes. I now apply this same philosophy to my ceramic work.
In my studio, I imprint. I layer. I experiment. My vessels are not only to hold but to remember. Some are cracked. Some are bare. All are deliberate. They are reminders that we hold more than we think we can.
There is an intimacy in ceramics that I return to again and again—the intimacy of inheritance, the intimacy of healing, the intimacy of reclaiming knowledge once lost or ignored. My work is not always loud, but it is grounded. Every crackle, every matte surface, every unexpected drip tells you:
I WAS HERE, AND I AM STILL BECOMING.
