Call Out

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"What do you know about me, Pabs? This is my life and I get to do what I want!"

Wedged between a grocery store and a cafe stood a humble pottery studio, a two-storey building; the second floor served as a living space for the owners whilst the workshop was operated underneath. The studio was painted white with a huge glass window which enabled bypassers to catch a glimpse of what was inside and doubled as a ceramic display case. The owners ran classes, sold hand-made ceramics and facilitated a workshop which was beloved by many.

Enters Amber, donning a black blazer, ripped jeans, white trainers and a plain tee, complimenting her well-chosen colour palette, black and white simply blend well together. The owner warmly greeted her return as Amber hung up her blazer, tied up her blond hair with an orange scrunchie and threw on an apron.

She loved this sweet little studio. Amber did.

The potter's wheel was a thing of wonder, it was a nifty sink with a giant wheel attached to it, allowing a trained human to mould life into any pottery their heart may desire. A plastic water bucket hung to the side, serving as a solution to dew one's hand. In a shelf behind the table, a little box held a variety of pottery tools: needles, metal wires to slice clay, sgraffito, sponges, brushes, ribs and scrapers.

This was Amber's domain.

The sporadic interior complimented the haven of creativity, dried clay stains marked the floorboard, the many power cords snaking along the ground, Polaroid photos plastered on the perimeter of a mirror and the dozens of festoon lights that hung from the ceiling like overgrown vines.

Amber began wedging her clay, rolling the piece until she felt that all sides were smooth and all previously trapped air pockets were gone. She pressed and shaped the earth into something of a raindrop with a rounded bottom, occasionally sprinkling droplets of water to smooth out her creation's wrinkles. She slammed the clump onto the centre of the potter's wheel, inching closer towards the wheel, anchoring her elbow closer towards her body, practically leaning all her body weight onto her masterpiece.

Upon flicking on a switch, the wheel moved in rapid succession and Amber began ploughing her palms against the clay's surface, rivulets of slips streamed downwards as her creation began sculpting into reality. While her palm was applying pressure to formulate a shape, she squeezed the clay with her fingers, her pinky dug into the bottom to put in place a strong sealant between the base and the wheel. At first, the clay wobbled but she simply coaxed the thing into a hypnotic state of undulation, as the surface became smoother, the process of opening up the vase began. Inserting her index finger directly into the centre, the inside widened until it was adequately nearing the base, gashing open like a spinning vortex.

Everyone has their own ways of coning, Amber was no exception to this rule. No matter how long the wheel or the globe spins, it all comes back to the person enacting it. Pinching the edge, the walls were pulled upwards, Amber made sure that her hand was very much moist before doing so.

Digging a blunted metal trimming tool into the perimeter of the base, Amber slowly trimmed away the excess material. The metal rib was ultimately the final step to clean up the vase, smoothening the exterior of the pottery, embodying the skilful nature of its creator.

A few students paused whatever they were doing just to watch Amber's craftsmanship, awed by her professionalism.

Quietly, she shaped and weaved her creation, hidden in the corner of the room.

"It always amazes me how nimble you are at your craft," Charles pleasantly smiled, pushing up his browline glasses, clearly jealous, "You can definitely make a career out of this, or join us here, we can definitely use the help," hastily proposing a job offer.