Man from Grottaglie.

I made him in Puglia three, maybe four summers ago and now he hangs on my bathroom wall, ready and willing to raise my early morning spirits...it’s his job.

The blue slats, from an old window box I found abandoned in a gutter, radiate warmth. The man himself is made up of bits and pieces I found in the long-cold embers of an old rubbish fire somewhere nearby.

In my head he’s an old potter...Grottaglie has been renowned since Classical times for it’s grapes and its ancient craft ceramics.