How potter Aleph Ebuzia Sisbe makes time-keeping vessels

It takes six to seven hours to build each bowl, using files that flatten them into thick strips. You begin a new series by drawing the shapes you have in mind, although the actual shape always emerges in the construction process; She says that clay is alive and resists its maker. When she moved to Denmark, she realized that the types of vessels she had been making until then did not translate well into the language of high-fired stoneware. She had to find models that were in conversation with the material. By contrast, the disappearing base of her dishes was something she developed “suddenly, from the beginning,” conjuring up shapes she could remember in “grandmothers’ casseroles” and Anatolian pots. Constructing a vessel is a constant process of pushing and pulling, trying to tame the material while remaining in service to it. The next glazing stage is “the worst part of the job – messy and awful.” It can take up to two years to develop a single color, made up of subtle variations of dozens of ingredients. “Color is a need,” she explained, but it is also a response to the unique shape of the bowl. After sampling colors on tiles and small bowls, she applies the glaze using a spraying technique using a vacuum hose. Like clay, glazes seem to have a mind of their own, and can produce unexpected results: the pistachio-green glaze you came up with years ago will now only produce a light blue color. The Turkish word for vitrification is sirwhich also means “secret”, which refers to the secret of the chemical process, and also to the fact that ceramic experts do not share their own recipes, which have been perfected over many years of trial and error.

Last year’s exhibitions took their toll on Sisbay: tendonitis in one shoulder, carpal tunnel, and trigger finger in one hand. Sisbe was “scared to death” that she would never be able to build pots again; Her biggest fear in life is not being able to work. Over the summer, she carefully prepared three large bowls, to see what would happen. She added: “So far, so good. But of course the body gives up after a certain point.” “I find it very easy to accept the physical changes in my body. I’m getting older, what can I do about it? But I’m not getting older.” Indeed, she looks miraculously young, constantly rising from the sofa in high-heeled ankle boots – to find a catalogue, to line the windows, to make tea. At the same time, she admitted that she is living in the consciousness of death, wondering how many years she has left. “I don’t want to die. When I sleep at night, I think I might, and my body won’t be found for three days, if no one comes by.” She added shortly afterwards: “But perhaps it is comforting to think about death. It is comforting to know the truth.”

Throughout our conversations, I was fascinated by the aura of timelessness that Siesbye exudes. Her dishes have a similar effect, that of conflicting time frames; They appear simultaneously primitive and modern. Siesbye is tall, with dark eyes and a pile of cropped cinnamon hair. She dresses with amazing style: Once, before we met, I saw her walking down the street and turned to take a second look at her.

Despite her commanding elegance, she also seems, at any moment, on the verge of bursting into laughter. There’s the same sense of surprise in her home, which at first glance seems so sparse and aesthetic: two white sofas on either side of a gray coffee table that seem to float off the floor, like its vessels; Gorgeous colorful rugs, designed by Siesbye. The studio at the back can be seen from the seating area; Her shelves are lined with her pots and glaze samples, but they are tidy. On the mezzanine floor is the bedroom in earthy and sensual red tones. But, within the clean, controlled beauty, there’s hidden humor: stuffed toys stored in a drawer, and a photo of a license plate a friend sent her pinned in the hallway, labeled “BO KU 7K.” When said out loud, it is Turkish and means “we are in deep trouble.” At the end of our first interview, Sisby brought over a pear cake from the neighborhood bakery, then asked me if I wanted to hear a dirty joke she’d recently been told. She doubled over in laughter before she could get to the punch line.