The Potter's Daughter - A chapter each week - Complete Novel Available on Amazon

Chapter 3

On the western shore of Willow Lake, three structures huddled amid the evergreens.  The shoreline studio dwarfed the tool shed nestled in the trees opposite the lakeside yard and the main house stood recessed between the two.  From the house and the studio large bay windows peered out across the lake to the eastern shore.  At the lakeside a weeping willow towered over the compound.

Kiln rooms added to the side of the studio housed industrial electric kilns and gas-burning giants.  The old wood-burning kiln which Will preferred stood half dug into the ground by the tool shed.  Despite the old kiln being Will’s preference the oven did not get much use anymore.

Inside the studio were two large tables with urns ranging in size at different stages of completion.  On the far wall were stacks of clay sacks and the smaller tool and paint storage rooms.  The bathroom was in the corner.  Everything was coated in a fine layer of clay dust giving the room a distinct grey accent.  Lined up and evenly spaced under the large window stood five pottery wheels.  Sitting at one was Will.

Will had spent most of his sixty-seven years in this greyed studio and was as much a part of the workshop as the clay and urns themselves.  All of his memories came from this place.  Bellen hands had built the Bellen studio.  Will had grown up in the studio and there he had raised his children.

The potter’s wheel is where Will felt most comfortable.  The wet clay felt moist against Will’s hands lightly running between his fingers.  Delicately the clay was brought to life by his seasoned touch.  Will had learned how to be a potter from his father and in turn had taught his son.

For generations the Bellen name was synonymous with hand crafted ornamental urns.  Since Will’s grandfather had built the studio, trucks had come to Willow Lake four times a year to pickup urns ready for consignment.  Will was proud that Bellen urns had been taken as far away as China and India.

The urns were all of sizes and degrees of ornamentation.  The cremation urns were always in demand and there were standing orders with the best interior design firms for several of the tall highly decorated urns to be displayed in the lobbies of hotels, custom homes, or large city apartments.  Some urns were special order.  Will’s father used to boast that President Roosevelt had two tall urns put in the White House that were made with his own hands, the hands of a Bellen.

Over the years the highly detailed urns tended to be more popular and brought in the most money.  Urns Will did not like that much because he thought they appeared contrived.  Each grape vine, humming bird, and floral decoration was created with such skill and artifice that they ironically lacked naturalness and spontaneity.  Will’s favorite urns were tall and plain.  That is what he was about to create.

Though the shop had electric wheels, for the tall urns Will always used the manual kick wheel with the pedal on the floor just as his father did.  When Will’s son Michael was alive the two would have competitions.  Will on the manual wheel and Michael on the electric.  The contest was to see which of the two could raise the clay to the tallest urn.  Will had played the same game with his own father.

The clay Will was working with started as a blob and was that no longer.  Will reached over to get the wet sponge while holding his other hand effortlessly still on the side of the clay.  The wheel hummed.  The pedal pumped up and down.  Will’s upper body was postured statuesque, the clay waiting to dance before him.  Will squeezed the sponge above the clay as the water uniformly engulfed the form.  The time was right.  Leaning into the wheel, Will put his other hand lightly to the side, beckoning his partner.  The clay responded and began to lift from the wheel, agreeing to join him.  Will led, the clay followed.  His right hand caressed below the rising nape of the rim.  His left hand stroked the side at the waist.

The clay began to dance.

If Will respected the clay, if his hands were steady, the clay would become a tall plain urn.

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