The kiln fixes things. It takes them from a collection of potentials, a heaving mass of maybe quivering in the skin of an article, to a final and irreversible conclusion.
In goes a fist of clay pressed around a thumb; out comes an egg cup. In goes a paper bag spilling with groceries; out comes a cake, or a burnt omelette, or a compost heap. In goes yesterday’s paper; out comes the prize crossword, filled in and ready to claim its reward, or a greasy sheet scabbed with batter and a single wilted chip.
How will the kiln fix you?
V for vignette 