Catch a Falling Star brings together a constellation of small ceramic forms that hover between the vernacular and the celestial. Each star is shaped by hand, carrying minute deviations – a softened point, a shifted hole, a smile that almost disappears into the glaze. Through repetition, these differences accumulate and form a subtle system, a vocabulary of gestures.

In this new series, Agnès Wyler borrows the title from a familiar pop refrain, yet the tone here points to the absurd, tender ambition of holding onto something that was never meant to be held. These stars are stubbornly terrestrial, fragile, insistently material. They fall into the hand rather than the sky.

Arranged in clusters or encountered alone, they behave like small bodies in orbit – porous, punctured, open to attachment. Their holes suggest potential connections, invisible threads, future arrangements. What appears as artifacts at first glance slowly shifts into something else: a collection of minor deviations, an archaeology of touch, an index of the hand that shaped them.

In Catch a Falling Star, the ordinary and the mythic fold into one another. What remains is a soft contradiction: a gesture of capturing light, carried out in clay — a material that remembers every pressure, every hesitation. These pieces carry both the promise of a star and the quiet joy of reaching for one.