Before vessels, Tanchi was known for her large-scale sculptures. The transition began when a florist approached her for collaboration. The florist’s attention to the relationship between flowers and vessels sparked a new line of thought in her.
“She said that flowers and vessel can speak the same language, echoing one another.” Tanchi recalls how the florist influenced her career by one single detail.
This idea guided her exploration of form and purpose. Rather than treating vessels as secondary to the arrangement they hold, she began to see them as independent works, coexisting, not accompanying.
“A vessel doesn’t have to stand behind the flowers.
They are the creation themselves.”
Her ideas often begin with daily observation.
“It can be very random, sometimes a shape just catches my eye,
soon I start imagining it as one of my pieces.”
Inspiration, for her, is less about concepts than about attention, but noticing the unnoticed.
Her work is always clean and simple, yet sophisticated. Since her approach to minimalism is not about reducing effort or emotion — it’s about control and awareness. She aims for forms that are quietly honest, reflecting the audience.
“Simple shapes can stir layered impressions in different people.”
This clarity makes her work distinct, but also less immediately accessible.
“I know my pieces aren’t the kind that people instantly like,” she admits.
“They need time and patience.”
Each vessel carries a quiet tension — a balance between simplicity and complexity, restraint and expression. For Tanchi, these objects are not designed to impress at first sight but to merge into our lives, growing familiar over time.
The decision moving from large sculptures to medium-sized ceramic pieces was not simply a technical change. It also reflected the realities of space, living, and the audience.
Many visitors to her earlier exhibitions admired her sculptures, but also admitted that placing one in their home was relatively unimaginable. The feedback stayed with her.
“The size of my previous sculptures distances them.”
She describes this adjustment as both natural and necessary — a dialogue between art and daily life. Alternatively, it’s a dialogue between her and time.
“Each era has its own images,
falling out of fashion doesn’t kill the values.”
Tanchi’s vessels are born from compromise, but not defeat. They carry the memory of sculpture, its weight, its patience, but also the intimacy of domestic life. Each piece stands somewhere between artwork and object, independence and function.
“Each work has its own mission, they will speak one day.”
Holding a cup to the ear, can sometimes hear the waves, she shared with us.
There is a trace of humor in her words, but also honesty about the difficulty of sustaining an artistic life.
“I gave myself a deadline — it’s hard, some days are exhausting.
But every morning, I still wake up and continue.”
Her practice, like her forms, resists extremes. It neither rejects practicality nor surrenders to it. In that balance lies her strength, an artist who listens carefully to both materials and herself, finding serenity in movement, and meaning in restraint.
