​​Stargazing unfolded between 2004 and 2010 — not as a straight line, but as a sustained orbit.

Graphite and fire worked side by side during those years, each informing the other while life carried on in the background like weather. Large sheets of bristol board sat on the table and a kilns glowed in a studio. Mechanical pencils wore down to stubs and ceramic test cones bent in heat. It was all happening at exactly the way is was going to.

 

Drawing at that scale with a 0.5 mm mechanical pencil is a test of patience and vision. The same geometric form appeared again and again, quiet but persistent. It rotated. Multiplied. Shifted. Collapsed into pattern and reassembled itself. Each drawing felt less like invention and more like navigation very similiar to charting constellations one measured line at a time.

There is a respectful nod to M. C. Escher in the structural cleverness, but the language is Aaron’s astronomical restraint meeting obsessive geometry.

 

At the same time, clay was being cut, scored, and slab-built into abstract forms that carried those same geometric bones. The kiln became another kind of sky.

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The American raku pieces left the fire like meteors — pulled from open flame, glowing, carbon marked, immediate. They cracked and flashed as air met heat, surfaces recording the violence of entry.

The cone 10 high-fire works took the slower path. More asteroid than meteor. Long reductions and sustained atmosphere. Temperatures climbing past 2300°F. Hotter than the sun and cooler than a supernova abstract forms with geometric structure were tested in extremes.

Across six years, graphite mapped the sky while clay entered it. The drawings charted space; the ceramic forms recreated what might of been and together they became a single body of work. 

 

The completed suite, drawings and fired forms alike converged in a solo exhibition at the Springbox Gallery. Peers, collectors, and the observant stepped into the orbit of something familiar but all new again.

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