The second generation is made entirely by removing. Both masses are opened at the crown and drawn out from within, leaving a wall of nine millimetres and a void running the full height of each column. Nothing was added. The silhouette did not move. From across a room, Generation 00 and Generation 01 are the same object.

But an interior changes everything. The moment a form contains, it begins to propose. Water could stand here. A single stem could. The object has not asked for a use — it has simply become capable of one, and capability is how function actually arrives: not as intention, but as consequence.

This is the hinge of the series. Generation 00 was a sculpture that could not be used. Generation 01 is a sculpture that can be, and mostly isn't — it stands empty in the studio for weeks at a time. The emptiness now reads differently. It has become restraint rather than fact.

Two cones turned from walnut, seated into the openings of Generation 01. They are not fixed and not glued; they rest, held by their own taper and weight. Where the stoneware ended in a mouth, it now ends in a plane — a small circular field of end grain, warm against the chalk of the clay.

The cone does the work of a leg in reverse. It does not lift the object, it completes it upward, converting a void into somewhere that something can be set down. A glass. A key. A folded pair of glasses at the end of a day. The two planes sit at different heights, and the piece becomes a table for one person's small objects.

The bond of the name is now literal: clay to wood, mass to plane, sculpture to furniture. And nothing was discarded to arrive here. Generation 00 is still inside Generation 02, whole and unaltered. The lineage is additive, and every earlier state stays available — lift the cones out and the object is a vessel again. Lift nothing, and it was always a sculpture.