Page 40 of The Christmas Retreat
It was odd to see Pearl without her sister. She seemed to take on a little more shape and solidity by herself.
‘I think we might be the only takers for the pottery tour,’ Toby said as I caught up with them.
‘Opal’s gone to explore possible locations for filming later,’ Pearl said. ‘But I’m really keen on ceramics. I loved it when we were doing our art foundation year and wanted to keep on with it, only Opal thought …’ She tailed off.
‘I quite enjoyed that part of my foundation year too,’ I agreed, ‘but I liked metalwork better. I knew by then anyway that I really wanted to study graphic art, because I’d already had ideas for children’s books.’
‘I’m just generally interested, and I love thosePottery Throw Downprogrammes,’ Toby said as we headed down the narrow drive through a lot of shrubbery. ‘I especially like the magical way a potter can make a shape grow on the wheel from just a lump of clay.’
‘WhenItried, mine all came out like dog bowls,’ I said. ‘It sounds as if they produce mainly cast ceramics here, although I don’t know what form Timon’s own artwork takes, of course.’
We arrived at a large wooden-gated arch in the back of a long building and went through a small door let into one half of it into a large courtyard with buildings around three sides. Even if we hadn’t been told, it would have been evident that it had once been stables, coach houses and barns, before it was extended and remodelled. There was a sign on the far side proclaiming the Triskelion Gallery and Cafe. Timon, spotting us from the window of what seemed to be a small office by the gate, came out to greet us.
‘Hello, have you come for the tour?’ he said, smiling at us. ‘I was starting to think no one was interested.’
‘I think it’s just us three, but we’re really looking forward to seeing what you do here,’ Toby said.
‘My manager usually takes the tours, but I like to take our retreat guests round myself,’ said Timon, and he started by showing us his own studio and the series of ceramic sculptures he was currently working on for an exhibition.
They were very large and organic, looking as if they had grown there on the workbench, especially the finished ones, which were glazed in shades of pale greenish-white with hints of lilac and lavender.
The rest of the tour, taking in all the various stages of manufacture, from the storage of the raw clay right through to theworkshop near the gallery, where robes and other accessories were created for the fabric-bodied porcelain-faced figures they also now produced, was fascinating. Everyone working there seemed absorbed and busy in their own part of the process and hardly aware of us.
It appeared that working with porcelain was very different from working with other types of clay. Pearl was surprisingly knowledgeable about it, and she and Timon were soon engaged in a discussion, in which phrases like ‘bisque first firing’, ‘underglaze decoration on to the porous surface’ and ‘final glazing’ left Toby and me slightly glazed, too.
When it was called Triskelion Art Porcelain, the pottery produced figurines, vases and other decorative items, specializing in characters from history and legend, especially Welsh legends. Since then, the addition of the fabric-bodied figures with porcelain hands and faces, some very big, had been extremely successful.
‘Of course, at this time of year Father Christmas and the angel figures are most popular,’ Timon said, as I reluctantly put a finished Santa back on its shelf. It was about eighteen inches high with a benign expression and fur-trimmed red satin robes over a conical support so that he stood up.
‘But so too are many others of our figures, including all the characters from the Winter Solstice. You’ll find them all in the gallery shop,’ he added encouragingly as we emerged back into the courtyard. ‘It’s run by Bronwen’s daughter, Megan. We sell our work through many outlets, of course, but the gallery and cafe are very popular with our visitors.’
‘Do you get many?’ asked Toby, as we watched two or three people cross towards the cafe door.
‘Quite a few, even in winter, but lots more in the tourist season. We give tours round the pottery to small groups. Theyhave to be brought in by minibus because the road is unsuitable for coaches. There’s a small car park at the bottom end of the village, and visitors to St Melangell can also walk here along the cliff path.’
We thanked him, and Toby and I assured him we’d really enjoyed the tour, while Pearl said wistfully that she would love to try her hand with porcelain.
Timon kindly said that she could come down and do so at any time, if she wished.
‘I’d love to, if Opal …’ stammered Pearl, a faint pink flush in her cheeks. ‘I mean, I’d absolutely love to, if I can!’
Timon went back in and Toby said to Pearl, ‘You should make time to do the things you really want to. This will all be part of the creative process, won’t it? Just different from what you usually do with your sister.’
She cast him a grateful look, cheeks flushing an even deeper pink. It was like a marble statue coming alive!
‘That’s what I think, too,’ she said gratefully. ‘Art shouldn’t keep within rigid boundaries, or you end up just repeating the same old ideas … but Opal doesn’t quite see it like that.’
Oblivious that we were standing in a freezing cold yard – the sun was doing little to warm up the air – they fell into a discussion that both seemed to find engrossing.
Pearl was such a different person without Opal’s presence that I wasn’t surprised Toby seemed no longer nervous of her. Now the two of them were chatting together quite naturally. Pearl still cast the occasional admiring glance at him, but then, he was the most strikingly handsome young man, so you couldn’t really blame her for that.
Leaving them to chat, I headed back towards the house. I’d have loved to see the gallery, but that could wait for another day.
I bumped into Evie on the front step. She was wearing a long, sweeping mole-grey coat and a fake fur hat, and looked even more like some fantastic bird than she usually did.
‘Where have you been?’ I demanded, taking in her somewhat smug expression.
‘To visit Noel’s bookshop – and he’s invited me back for tea this afternoon,’ she said. ‘That man is an absolute goldmine of local history.’
