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After 35 years in the atelier, I am haunted by a recurring image: the bush of thistles. I see it in the eyes of seasoned educators and weary adults—a dense, prickly thicket of no, should, and impossible. We speak of educare, of drawing out the light, yet we have become master architects of our own…
The Alchemy of the Fragment: Turning the Inside OutWe are rarely a single, solid story. Instead, we are a collection of echoes, sudden flashes of light, and the quiet weight of shadows. We are made of fragments: the jagged edge of a morning argument, the velvet texture of a dream, the precise blue of a…
The Sextant’s Pivot: Navigating by What is Left to Fill the Hole of Wrong. In the geography of wholeness, we are often told to follow a compass that only points toward Right. We treat Wrong like a cliff’s edge a place of finality, a wreckage to be abandoned.But a compass only works on solid ground.…






