Clay is autotelic but plastic and coherent. Its early usefulness antedates recorded history and registers past civilizations. In the palms of the artist clay blooms into a myriad yielding outer indeterminacy or inner gestalt. Organic as the clay is the artist plays with Nature’s uncanny simulacra. The artist thus romances with clay.

These clay figures are arrested in beguiling but fantastic molds. Here are figures with closed eyes in quite contentment but also in vexing strangeness that borders on the macabre. In what is beautiful, terror is the other side of beauty. The dominant designs valiantly defy normality because they appear as post-human graftages from the artist’s earthy delights.

These are deep brown offsprings from the womb of the soil and fired red in infernal hearth. Such are the labours of their creation, the ardous birthing process of clay sculptures.

With these pieces, the artist has upended the originality of his previous clay works. His spiraling creativity continues to expand in scope and to multiply in subjects. His art consistently moves forward without letup. There is no rest for artist Allan Cabalfin.