Crimson Grain

The pomegranate has crossed every border that shaped Shirin's heritage. It appears in Persian poetry as a vessel of abundance, in Anatolian folk tradition as a symbol of fertility and new beginnings, and on the threshold of homes from Istanbul to Isfahan, split open to scatter its seeds like a blessing. This piece holds all of that without declaring any of it. The clay was pressed and pulled into the pomegranate's familiar silhouette, then a crescent of individual seeds was built up by hand along the right side, each one a small, tactile bead. Under the kiln's heat, the crimson glaze deepened and pooled, leaving the seeds darker at their bases where the pigment gathered. The gold at the crown and rim arrived last, a thin line that separates the red from the air around it. To look at it is to feel the weight of something ripe. The glossy surface catches light the way the fruit's skin does in late-afternoon sun, and the seeds remain perfectly counted, perfectly still.