I’m drawn to abstract forms—do you have any craft sculpture that leans that way?

Oh, I’m so glad you lean that way. There’s something almost magnetic about abstract forms—they don’t tell you what to see; they invite you to feel. I have a few craft sculptures that live in that space exactly.

One piece I keep thinking of is a hand-built ceramic form that looks like a loop caught mid-motion. It’s not a circle, not a knot, but something in between—like a ribbon that forgot how to end. The glaze is matte, almost like stone, with subtle ridges where the clay was pressed. When the light hits it from one side, it casts a shadow that becomes part of the shape. You almost want to run your finger along its curve.

Another is a small tabletop sculpture made from layers of fused glass and copper wire. It doesn’t represent anything specific—just a tangle of lines and translucent planes that seem to float inside the glass block. From different angles, it looks completely different. Sometimes like a wing, sometimes like a wave, sometimes like a thought you can’t quite catch.

I also work with found metal and wood, assembling them into quiet abstractions. A welded steel piece I finished recently has three slender arcs that intersect without touching. They create this invisible tension in the air between them. It’s not loud, but it holds a room.

If you’re into abstract forms that feel alive—not cold or industrial, but warm, handmade, intuitive—these might speak to you. Each one has a different texture, a different weight, and none of them will ever tell you what they are. That’s the point. You get to decide.