My work began at a moment when I was seeking silence — and I found it in clay.
I'm Renata Catena, and I'm still at the beginning of my path as a ceramicist. I’ve been learning slowly, with my hands and with time — through attempts, mistakes, and the small joys that come along the way. I come from a fast-paced life — I run a business, I’m involved in social projects — but it was through ceramics that I found a different space. A quieter rhythm, more grounded. A pace that invites presence.
Right now, I'm carefully preparing for a possible selection in the 55th Koguei Bunkyo Art Exhibition , one of the most important showcases of Japanese-Brazilian art. Just being able to prepare for it already feels like an honor. I'm doing my best — calmly and with respect for the process — because sometimes, just getting started already says a lot.
I’ve been guided with great care by my teacher Magali Ercolin, who has taught me to listen to the clay, and to understand that it has its own time — and that this is how it should be. Learning with her has also been about learning to observe differently.
For this moment, I created two new pieces. They were inspired by the Japanese tea ceremony (Chanoyu), which has always moved me with its quiet gestures and its delicate attention to the simple things. Everything there is about silence, intention, and hospitality.
The pieces are still in their raw state, air drying. Soon they will go through the first firing (bisque), when the clay begins to transform and its true texture is revealed. It's a fragile stage — where anything can happen — and maybe that's exactly what makes it beautiful.
The first vase, taller and more restrained, is called “Chaji”. It has thin walls and a quiet presence. It represents preparation, the restrained gesture, the stillness before the act. I worked with verticality, balance, and the tension that precedes movement.
The second vase, shorter and wider, is called “Chawan no michi” — the path of the bowl. It’s open, inviting, with a slightly irregular rim. It speaks of the moment of serving, of welcoming the other with softness.
Different, but siblings. One holds, the other offers. One stands tall, the other opens up. I shaped both thinking about this dialogue between structure and surrender.
Beyond the forms, I've also been researching materials. For these pieces, I prepared a glaze made with wood ash and coffee — a mixture that carries time within it. The final color is still a mystery, and I love that. I love the idea that the fire will have the final word.
Mixing, testing, failing... that too is ceramics. There's a bit of alchemy in it, but mostly patience. Little by little, I’m starting to understand that what matters isn’t just the color in the end — but the care in every step that comes before it.
Being in this process, even before knowing if I’ll be selected, has already been a gift. Because more than presenting work, it’s a way of affirming a way of being in the world.