Gaspar Gorodisch
Romper es parte del proceso
About
Broken Pots - The exhibition
A Bunch of Broken Pots - The Film
Lo que sale del fuego - The Book
Ceramics
Photography
Shop (coming soon)
Studio A
Contact
Mailing list
Romper es parte del proceso
About
Broken Pots - The exhibition
A Bunch of Broken Pots - The Film
Lo que sale del fuego - The Book
Ceramics
Photography
Shop (coming soon)
Studio A
Contact
Mailing list
@gg.ceramica
CV/Bio
gaspar.ceramica@gmail.com
+44 (0) 7400 900 796
Join the mailing list
What do we do with what breaks?
My own injuries have shaped the way I move through the world. Breakage, for me, is not symbolic, it is structural. Its persistence is the ground from which I build.
In clay, I found an empathetic material. It holds the memory of pressure. It yields, it resists, it fractures. If one knows how to listen, it teaches. The edge where balance trembles and collapse feels near, should not be avoided, but observed.
Things break, and my work is no exception. I don’t discard, I mend, allowing the rupture to speak, often saying more than that which was whole.
My studio is built around discarded objects. By collecting street refuse and reclaimed wood, I reinvigorate what was left behind and give it a space to rise again.
My practice focuses less on perfection, and more on process, resilience, attention, and the absurdity of it all.
To sublimate rupture is to stay close to it long enough to see what it might become.
There is beauty in what manages to hold together after breaking—not in spite of the fracture, but because of it.
My own injuries have shaped the way I move through the world. Breakage, for me, is not symbolic, it is structural. Its persistence is the ground from which I build.
In clay, I found an empathetic material. It holds the memory of pressure. It yields, it resists, it fractures. If one knows how to listen, it teaches. The edge where balance trembles and collapse feels near, should not be avoided, but observed.
Things break, and my work is no exception. I don’t discard, I mend, allowing the rupture to speak, often saying more than that which was whole.
My studio is built around discarded objects. By collecting street refuse and reclaimed wood, I reinvigorate what was left behind and give it a space to rise again.
My practice focuses less on perfection, and more on process, resilience, attention, and the absurdity of it all.
To sublimate rupture is to stay close to it long enough to see what it might become.
There is beauty in what manages to hold together after breaking—not in spite of the fracture, but because of it.