A few years ago I packed a collection of my favorite pieces and placed them in storage. I did so under great duress to ensure that they wouldn’t become subject to the inevitable destruction and torment invited by daily use and perhaps more so to avoid the heartbreak brought on by separation anxiety. I soon forgot and was titillated by this realization and quickly planned a reunion for myself and my subjects. A reunion. An opportunity to experience once again the raw expression of my work, unencumbered by staled familiarity. It was a joyous occasion riddled with sensory banter and elation. There it was. That ever-elusive sense of accomplishment, of pride. Annnnnnnnd then gone.