There is a shelf in your studio. You know the one. It is three mugs deep and nobody is allowed to touch it, and every single one of them was going to be the last.
This is the sweatshirt for that shelf. JUST ONE MORE MUG set in chunky mid-century display caps, a wordmark you can read across a studio, over three slightly-wonky thrown mugs drawn with the wobble left in, because that is what a hand-thrown mug looks like. SAID EVERY POTTER EVER, small, underneath. It is the lie you tell yourself at the wheel at nine on a Tuesday, worn as a shirt.
The pottery aisle's idea of a joke is a pun in a free font, or a cartoon frog. This is the joke the other potters actually make, which is the difference between a shirt that gets a laugh and a shirt that gets a "who made that?"
Thick and warm, built for a cold studio and an evening class, the garment you actually reach for when the kiln is the only warm thing in the building, offered in a range of unfired-clay shades, because a light garment is what you wear in a studio, the one place clay stains everything else.
She buys this one for herself. It is also the safest gift in the building for anyone who has heard about the mug shelf one time too many.
Trim slow, glaze brave.
