What's striking the first time we discover Joanna Hair's animals is their presence, the fleeting impression that they're about to move. To achieve this lightness, this clarity, she had to digest eclectic documentation, spend time with her models, learn to understand their movements, and try to understand the curves and tensions. Then comes the work in the studio: taking a block of clay, two or more, sketching out a shape, starting by making mistakes, going back, continuing, moving forward, persevering until the moment when suddenly everything is almost in place, trying to preserve this moment of life, continuing without breaking this delicate thread. Sometimes the spell is broken and the clay returns to its inert state: a battle rather than a pleasure! Finally, the firing. The final step, the ultimate surprise, because the fire remains the master. Put it in the oven. A little over an hour later, it's already 1000°C. The pieces are removed one by one from the furnace, buried in sawdust, acrid smoke, then steamed, still heating. A "raku" firing involves direct contact with fire, heat, smoke, and steam: another battle. Then comes the cleanup and the surprise, often pleasant, sometimes unpleasant, of having worked for so little. It's at this price, thanks to this experience, this research, this craft, that Joanna's animals are naturally so elegant, so strangely alive.