Gemotions

The workshop felt cold, even with the kiln humming. Sarah ran a hand over the smooth, cool surface of the unglazed pottery, her fingers tracing the familiar curves of a recently crafted vase. The clay dust on her hands seemed to amplify the tremor in her hands. Her daughter, Maya, had initially been captivated by the pottery wheel, her eyes sparkling with excitement during their shared weekend classes. Now, Maya's hands were occupied with the dance studio, her feet performing intricate routines.

Sarah had dreamed of shared studio time, of seeing her daughter’s creations displayed beside her own. Instead, she was surrounded by empty easels, unused glazes, and the weight of her own fading dream. The lump in her throat prevented her from even looking at the ceramic art.