The works collected a century ago by a Swiss businessman — and now managed under the auspices of Rudolf Staechelin Foundation in his honour — have a rich history. The paintings under the Foundation’s auspices represent one of the finest private collections of modern art assembled during the 20th century.

In the grand scheme of things, I haven’t been potting for very long. Recently someone openly criticised my work and me, saying I don’t deserve what I’ve achieved, because I haven’t invested enough time into the craft. That remark did make me think. The internet, social media and the explosive popularity of ceramics, stoked by Instagram, have brought about a new dynamic, an age of innovative and connected potters, with lots of positive and negative consequences. I often critique the work of diverse potters, whether my own or other pieces I see online in shops and in galleries. It’s a tendency I’ve partly inherited, but perhaps it also stems from how I was taught ceramics, the approach I embraced for the craft and the tens of thousands of hours I’ve invested in my first seven years.

Arguably, a photograph’s natural habitat is on paper. The image eases into the soft crevices and wrinkles, lending a depth of texture which seems to draw the flat picture into life again. The swoop of a curving torso, the well of shadow pooling in a collarbone, the luminosity of a thigh. It surpasses tangibility to become something which communicates not with the active mind, but the subconscious, the part which needs no words to understand. Christian Coigny’s photography grasps this concept with confident delicacy.

A couple of years ago, I was gifted a book called Moon, Moon, written by Anne Kent Rush in 1976, which was in part a loose encyclopedia of the moon and lunar cycles. It was another part experiment in interdisciplinary musing, weaving in illustrations of Hindu goddesses alongside a journaled list of Rush’s recent dreams, alongside Yeats’ poetry, Milton, goddess art and Buddhist sayings, “Fly Me to the Moon,” the history of the moon as the matriarch, “I see the moon, And the moon sees me,” moon consciousness …