I hand gather and preserve these webs—fragile and ephemeral creations of local makers, hunters and mothers—on fired clay (one of the world’s most enduring surfaces) and imagine them lasting for tens of millions of years as complex fossil records. In their design, scale, shape, captured contents (bugs, seeds, leaves, dust and debris), in their broken and repaired areas—these webs reflect and record the bodies, locations, surrounding conditions and daily activities of their makers. And in their design, scale and shape, the clay forms—cups, bowls, platters—speak to the bodies and activities of humans—to the sizes, for example, of human hands, mouths, and stomachs. In all, these works are a record on a record—the record of the spider on the record of the human. And, of course, they record as well my process. As I gather the webs, reaching through blackberries or crouching in cucumbers and squash, the conditions and dynamics are recorded as the webs distort, snap, and flatten (their three dimensions pressed into two).