I was born and raised in a family and a nation that experienced the collective trauma of World War II, Stalin’s tyranny, and a dictatorship. My self-image has always been defined as “We,” carrying a deep sense of responsibility for the actions and well-being of others.

Through my immigration journey, carrying the history of generations, I asked myself persistently: “Who am I? What is the meaning of life? What is my relationship with myself, time, space, and others? Where do I belong?” I have a deep curiosity about the essence of relationships in self, nature, and people’s lives. To me, learning and moving forward happens through experience and conversations. Stories often carry a key to a new insight, if approached with curiosity and without judgment.

I am tuned to other people’s pain. I want to help others see possibilities to gain light and steadiness. I see how open dialogue and sharing stories can bring new colors and meaning to a person’s own story.

I left my home in Moldova with my 9-year-old daughter during the conflict between Russia and Moldova, former republics of the USSR. Slogans on TV and public buildings, demonstrations, and the army presence in the streets left no room for imagination. They sent a clear message for “others”: “Go home.” My family is Jewish, and there was no home in any republics of the former Soviet Union. I applied for refugee status in the United States. The U.S. granted it to my parents, survivors of the Holocaust and Stalin’s Siberian camps, and their children.

My artistic journey has been intertwined with introspection and healing. The diagnosis that my mother had cancer shook my family. The grief laid bare questions about life, loss, and my identity. I felt alone. I would say I lost my mother, my memories, my connection to my land, culture, and people. In that silence, I also felt disconnected from myself, unsure how to recognize or express my own feelings and thoughts.

It was during this time, as Symphony New Hampshire performed Penelope, A Song Cycle, that I picked up clay and a glass vase. Alone in the room, I began a conversation with my materials. The shapes and colors held my feelings and thoughts. Art, nature, music, and conversations with clay became the first compassionate and creative audience that listened to me and reflected back. From that moment, I began to see people’s stories - or my own thoughts - in images.

Conversation with Clay grew from this journey. It is - my website, blog, and community - for anyone who is curious about relationships with art, music, and nature, anyone compassionate enough to listen and passionate enough to share their own story.

It is for anyone seeking clarity, a more compassionate relationship with themselves, and a space to ask questions without judgment: “What happened here? Where is the connection? What are the possibilities?”