Fujikasa Satoko‘s stunning stoneware sculptures remind me of Richard Sweeney’s paper ones. Their free flowing forms are similar, and both artists imbue movement and vitality into their chosen mediums. One writer compared Satoko’s sculptures to soaring birds –– Sweeney’s are often compared to birds in flight –– or winds moving through a valley. I see meringue and sea foam. In both cases, it’s the movement that I’m drawn to, as though they’ve sprung from sky and sea.

“Each piece of paper I cut is a prayer,” says Ayumi Shibata of her exquisite artworks. Through traditional methods of Japanese paper cutting, Shibata creates magical scenes inspired by nature. Some are tiny enough to fit inside the palm of a hand, while others are large enough to walk through. “Kami” –– the Japanese word for both “spirit” –– emanates through her work. Each piece lights up, releasing ethereal shadows. “The light represents spirit and life, how the sun rises and breathes life into the world,” she says. Interestingly, “Kami” also means paper, which seems apt given its light, organic, and ubiquitous qualities. I find Shibata’s work beautiful, and full of hope.

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There’s beauty in decay; paint peeling from walls of abandoned buildings, rust on steel, skin ravaged by life. These photographs by German artist, Kathrin Linkersdorff are breathtaking. Inspired by wabi sabi, the Japanese concept of transience and imperfection, Linkersdorff ‘s portraits capture the beauty of flowers as they are dying. “I am interested in the ephemeral nature of flowers and other living organisms,” she says. “You can interpret this as a metaphor for the circle of life. It’s not necessarily just about the flowers…. I like to explore an object’s nature and reveal structures which lie hidden under its surface.”

Megan Bogonovich‘s ceramics looks like sea creatures, the kind that beguile you, but that you know not to get too close to. Only a very vivid imagination can dream up such beautiful and bizarre creations. I rather adore this one, part exotic flower, part palm tree, and glazed in the gentlest of pastels. Do they bite? Quite possibly.

Thérèse Lebrun‘s intricate, paper thin creations require intense focus; I can’t imagine anything else enters her mind while she works. It’s the ultimate meditation, making room in the mind so that something raw and original can emerge. “My way of creating begins with doing, rather than thinking,” says Lebrun. I love this. Ceramics are a collaboration between clay and unconscious. The conscious mind kicks in to make practical decisions that pertain to function, but the rest of the time, you’re in another realm. I find Lebrun’s work exquisite and intense. Sea urchins, craters and winter seed heads spring to mind.

As a potter, I can tell you that function gets in the way of my fun. The minute I start measuring asparagus stalks, I lose my groove. I prefer to make a piece, and then figure out its use. And I think if we’re creative with our vessels, we can find a function for all of them. Tomatillos? Tea bags? Diamonds? I’ve got a bowl for you. I’m also very happy to fill my home with impractical objects that look beautiful and bring me joy. That’s it. Their only function. This week, I’ve made a series of platters that are just that. Someone might use them for shells, marbles or anything tiny and collectible, but I rather like them as they are. Circles within circles; fun over function.