The Vessel and the Self: On Space, Boundaries, and Becoming

What is a vessel?

At first glance, it's a container—something designed to hold, carry, or contain something else. But if we look closer, a vessel is far more than just what it contains. It is also defined by the space it occupies, the boundary it asserts, and the relationship it holds between interior and exterior.

This isn't just a question of design or form. It touches something deeper—something philosophical, even personal.

Positive Space, Negative Space—and the Switch Between

In art and design, positive space is what we see as the object—the form, the matter.
Negative space is everything around it—the emptiness, the absence, the breath between things.

But here’s the trick: the distinction isn’t fixed.
The inside of a vessel is negative space—until you pour something in.
Then it becomes positive.
The space outside the vessel may seem empty—until you realize it gives the vessel shape.
In that moment, outside becomes form.

The shift is subtle but powerful: positive space can be the negative space of something else.

It all depends on perspective.

The Boundary Makes the Form

A vessel is defined by its boundaries.
The wall of clay separates inside from outside, volume from void.

This boundary is not a barrier—it’s a threshold.
It’s what makes the vessel a vessel and not just an undifferentiated part of the world.
It is through this edge—this skin—that the vessel becomes an individual.

The boundary mediates.
It does not just contain—it relates.
It is the point of negotiation between what is held and what is not.

What If the Vessel Is Us?

We often think of ourselves as individuals, filled with thoughts, feelings, memories—a contained internal world.

But what if that metaphor is too narrow?

Humans, like vessels, are not defined solely by what's inside.
We are shaped just as much by what surrounds us: our environments, our relationships, our cultures.
We are not sealed containers—we are porous, permeable, responsive.

We absorb language, art, grief, joy, noise.
We reflect and emit.
We are not separate from the world—we are in constant dialogue with it.

When Does Inside Become Outside?

There is no fixed line.
What’s internal can become external the moment we speak it.
What’s external becomes internal when we feel it, learn it, carry it.

Just like space in a vessel, the line between self and world is fluid.

From one view, we are individuals.
From another, we are compositions of all we’ve touched, seen, lost, and held.

So, What Is a Vessel, Really?

It’s not an object.
It’s a relationship.

It mediates space.
It defines presence.
It becomes distinct through interaction.

And so do we.

Whether in clay, in form, or in selfhood—boundaries are not walls.
They are the soft edges where meaning begins.
Where space becomes place.
Where we begin to become.