in the middle of the street. an outdoor kiln.
everything here is done in the street.
washing
welding
electricity
herding
sewing
cooking
rebelling
burning
painting
praying
melting
from nepal
if you made a setting in the woods for milk and cream what dog would ask and run to the corner shop for bones and a sweater and ten ways out of a trap in the hole from here to there and never around before you sat on a sink running with black marbles and dust made of boar flakes and yak hair for sitting here could make you go batty.
i haven't. but i would.
the terra cotta village
the village surrounding the ceramic studio is filled with terra cotta. the streets, dusty orange from terra cotta. rows of enormous terra cotta pots drying in the sun. people's hands, dry and coated in terra cotta. broken terra cotta, collected in every crack and crevice.
the girl from changu narayan
to the right of a wall designating a small and sacred space for herself she ground terra cotta bricks into fine powder. with this powder she filled little glass jars and bottles, then poured the powder into lids, caps, and cups she had collected. after spooning the powder back into the jars and bottles, she ground more powder and started again.
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