Written by
Eleni Vasilaki
Every jug on the table was thrown eleven kilometres away, in a workshop at Ano Meria with one wheel and no sign.
Blue at the top
The glaze is the same one the potter's grandmother used, a blue that only goes on the upper third because cobalt was expensive and habits outlast reasons.
She delivers on Thursdays and leaves the box at the door of level two without knocking.
Visiting
The workshop is open most mornings. Ask at the desk and we will ring ahead, which is the only way anybody knows she is in.
