Process / by Kat Evans

Assembled quickly. 
Pinched rhythmically.
Crosshatched diligently.

Unnecessary but satisfying - the frosty crunch of fork on grog. 






Feeling the weight in my hand, turning, looking, feeling. A line, a plane, an edge - something to keep. 




It dries. The air is trapped. It pushes back. Surfaces swell. 
Paddling hard.

            Smoothing hard.

                        My wrist aches.

                                    The kidney flashes.

                                                    The surface shines. 
A tiny hole to release the air. Inside is unseen. The clay is wetter, softer, organic. Releasing the needle,

the piece


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