Valley Pipes

In the fertile Valley between the Pacific and the Sierra Nevada, the land teaches proportion and patience. Mountains take the rain and return it slowly. Once it’s in the Valley, it’s managed like gold, because it feeds the nation. Here, where I can see the crags above and smell the walnut harvest in the autumn wind, these pipes are born.

These are pipes of essential form. 

My pursuit of the Platonic shape: balanced silhouettes refined until they feel inevitable. 

Vessels for the same quiet ritual our grandfathers knew. 

A little fire, a little leaf, a moment amongst the chaos.