← Back to Earth
A speculative city of terra cotta rising into golden kiln-smoke haze — clay is the key to heaven
The same city in cross-section — quarries descending as deep as the towers ascend, the earth consumed to become the sky

Clay that survived the kiln. Wrapped around steel. The city rose.

The kilns never stopped. The clay had to come from somewhere.

The same ground, transformed. Removed from below. Fired. Stacked above.