In a small village nestled among the rice terraces of Bali, lived a humble potter named Agung Bongs. His hands, weathered by years of shaping clay, carried stories of generations past. Each morning, as the first rays of sun kissed the dew-covered fields, Agung would walk to his modest studio. There, amidst shelves of drying pots and jars, he would spin tales of tradition and innovatio... http://bongempire.com.au/