This morning I bought 3 bags of porcelain and 5 kilos of glaze (on my credit card/ dreadit card), it was delivered at half four this afternoon and I piled it into the wheelchair (it also functions as a trolley) and wheeled it to the new studio - I moved studio.
And now I'm ranting and swearing to Michelle about what a bastard porcelain truly is. It's not gritty and strong like grey clay, it's spongy and brittle, but it smooths beautifully under a palette knife, but also collapses in your hand.
It feels like some unrequited love between me and porcelain. I regard it so highly, I think it is perfect and beautiful and I am utterly seduced by saying the word and rolling it around in my head and writing it down and typing it into the keyboard. But oh porcelain.... you bastard.