Bari Moss

As a child, I spent countless hours on the beach near my home in Brooklyn. Like many kids, I enjoyed swimming in the brisk, salty ocean and collecting shells in my plastic bucket. But what I loved most about the beach was building sand castles—a joyful exercise in creativity that I soon learned was limited only by the breadth of my imagination, and one that seemed to draw inspiration from the roaring surf itself.

Today my hands are still at work—shaping, molding, giving rise to form—only now my medium is clay. And each time I sit at my wheel, I get the same rush of excitement that I felt when I first embarked on this journey thirty years ago. 

Working with clay is a process that invites endless possibilities. But even more thrilling to me than the beautiful, tactile act itself is the humbling knowledge that I am part of an age-old tradition of making usable wares from our very earth, aided only by the sacred elements of water and fire. It is an art form that connects us to our planet in the most intimate of ways.