Thick grooves, headless bodies, my first foray into ceramics.
Tactile, I am building up clay with the pads of my fingertips. Wet stoneware oozing homemade glue.

The first experiment looking tentatively to Henri Matisse, spring-boarding into a deep abyss of unknown creatures.

The women I form are simple, anonymous. Doused in flesh tones with hints of deep greens, reminiscent of a leafy paradise.

They lie on their emerald bed awkwardly, arms and hands jutting out, claiming space.

They screech and clank as I scoop them up,

(Clamouring for attention).

Bodies moulded to form a clunky dance. Rotund breasts, bellies spilling over their legs. Gelatinous thighs with ridges, a suggestion of knees. Arms stumps that lead nowhere.

Thumbprints tacked over necks and waists.
My ladies nestle, content amongst each other, frozen in the glimmer of my bedroom window sun.