At Adam's studio the pots stood waiting. I sat and painted on them and scratched into them and all the while he mixed chemicals to make a glaze and started packing the kiln and bringing in great long pieces of wood for the firing.
Having no idea what I was doing or what the finished thing would look like I did a few pieces, some hares, some birds and inevitable cheetahs.
Outside there were chickens and ducks and distant foxes over sunbleached winter fields.
Ailsa made us soup and we sat by the big window looking out on the beautiful land and then worked on a few more pots, watched by the donkey. When I left Adam was dipping mugs into a white glaze and scraping and sponging moonjars and packing them with wading.
The kiln will be opened by lunch time on Saturday. I love the sound the pots make as they cool, like a strange music box.
Ceramics is a much more physical thing than I am used to. The kiln itself is a large space. The pots when packed in look so vulnerable. The wood for firing is heavy and needs feeding in to the oven to make the heat. And then there are all the things that can go wrong.
I was nervous, not wanting to ruin Adam's shapes with scribbles. Adam is nervous as he doesn't want to blur and smudge my scribbles with too heavy a glaze. I have absolutely no idea what they will look like when they come out. They shrink. Colours change. With luck they will shine.