FLOW GALLERY

A day with Akiko in her London studio as she prepares for her upcoming exhibition with Flow, entitled Déjeuner du Matin , Breakfast.    Words from the artist:  "This exhibition takes its title from Jacques Prévert’s poem  Déjeuner du Matin (Breakfast). The works themselves are tableware intended for the rituals of breakfast, but the title carries another meaning.    I have long admired Prévert’s poetry. In Déjeuner du Matin, there is almost no psychological description. Instead, the poem simply records a sequence of ordinary actions: coffee is poured, a cigarette is lit, a raincoat is put on, someone leaves. Yet through these quiet observations, profound emotion emerges. Nothing is explained, and nothing dramatic happens, but something deeply human is felt.    I find the same quality in the novels of Marguerite Duras, where emotional states are rarely described directly, but are revealed through atmosphere, gesture and the passing of time. Some European films are often criticised as films "in which nothing happens." Yet it is precisely within these uneventful moments that a subtle fluctuation begins to appear - a slight shift in balance that quietly touches our emotions.    This sense of fluctuation is what I seek in my ceramics.    I first encountered it in antique Korean ceramics, particularly everyday vessels from the Goryeo and Joseon periods. Their beauty lies not in precision but in balance achieved through imperfection. Their irregularities are the result of materials that were less refined than those available today, guided by the sensitivity of the maker's hand. They possess a physical instability that feels alive.    I cannot reproduce those works, nor do I wish to. Instead, I try to create my own form of fluctuation. I mix some kind of impurity in my clay and throw it. During throwing, impurities within the clay move unpredictably, resisting an even pull and allowing the form to shift. During firing, the same clay responds differently to oxygen-rich and oxygen-starved flames, producing subtle variations of colour across a single vessel. In many ways, I intentionally reintroduce the irregularities that commercial ceramics have spent centuries eliminating.    Today, much of industrial production values consistency, precision and control. My work moves in the opposite direction, embracing variation as an essential part of making.    I am currently researching why certain forms of fluctuation and irregularity resonate so deeply with some people, while leaving others untouched. What was once an intuitive feeling has gradually become a more focused line of enquiry. The works in this exhibition are part of that ongoing investigation. They are quiet objects, but within their stillness I hope a gentle fluctuation can be felt - one that, like Prévert's poem, communicates not by explanation but by presence."    

When we visited Helen Carnac and David Gates at their home and studios last summer, we talked about the process of making a new home. Having recently moved from London to Somerset they were creating a shared space for living and working. Throughout the house & studios were artworks and furniture they had made and you could see how closely making was connected to the way they live.  They spoke about uncovering layers of the old buildings and about the rhythm of the garden, in a state of continual change. There are parallels in this with Helen’s work. Sheets of copper are crumpled and folded like cloth, forms remain open and unfixed and enamel surfaces seem weathered, as if shaped over time. Her materials are in dialogue with one another, her processes ongoing but not necessarily ever finished or complete.  Once shaped in part by the structures and surfaces of London, there is a softer more layered approach to her materials within this new collection for Flow.   View the collection

"Born in 1985. I have been a self-taught painter since childhood. My deep interest in outsider art led me to work as a support worker for several years, a period during which I also acquired woodworking skills.My transition to ceramics began while working as an antique dealer. Surrounded by Japanese pottery from various eras, I found myself increasingly fascinated by their history and form. Ultimately, I was moved by the primal beauty of ancient earthenware, which inspired me to begin creating my own pieces."   Q: Your work begins with simple, ancient forms. What draws you to these origins? A: I find a dual charm in ancient artifacts; they feel both primitive and remarkably modern. What fascinates me is the sense of a shared, universal sensibility that seems to exist among indigenous peoples across the globe. Q: You speak about materials revealing their own memory. How do you listen to, or respond to what a material is “telling” you? A: By engaging with the material—touching it and altering its form—I connect with my own memories. Ultimately, I reach a point where the memories of the material and my own memories seem to merge and meet. Q: How does your approach shift when working across different materials - ceramics, wood, and drawing? A: In my mind, drawing is more right-brained (intuitive), woodworking is more left-brained (logical), and ceramics sits somewhere in the middle.   Q: Can you describe your studio process and rhythm? A: I create freely, moving between mediums: I turn to pottery when drawing becomes difficult, and shift to woodwork when I need a change of pace from ceramics. In my ceramic work, I use the hand-building (coil construction) technique to create jars. I apply that exact same sensibility and procedure to my woodwork. I use 12mm plywood as the primary material. I cut the wood into donut-shaped rings, which I then stack one by one to build up the form of the vessel. When firing my ceramics, I use a primitive method called “pit firing” (or “open firing”), similar to the techniques used in ancient times and across Africa. Q: What are your favourite tools to use in the studio? A: I have a Kamidana (a traditional Japanese altar) in my studio. It holds a glass of water and a single-flower vase. My daily rhythm begins by refreshing both the water and the plant. I maintain this routine to ground my daily creative flow. Q: Does place influence your work? A: Yes, I believe it does. Last year, I moved to a place surrounded by nature, and the things I see every day have naturally begun to manifest in my work. Lately, I spend time each day observing the small objects I find fallen in my garden.

"In Korea, mountains are visible from almost anywhere. Growing up, I was surrounded by nature and closely experienced its changes and rhythms. I often found myself gazing at mountain ridges, letting my thoughts wander."