The Paradise Stain. Nick Glade-Wright

Why the hell do I put myself through this? she screamed inside.

      This year she would contact parents to try to encourage them to support their children’s creative efforts in pottery, but Melinda knew that the task of getting through to parents was often more daunting than classroom management. Home was usually the battleground where neglect and dissent festered.

      The kiln firing was a success. By the time the students had returned to the studio Melinda had taken their work from the kiln and placed it on their tables. She’d let them fetch their own work directly from the kiln once. It had been a disaster. After the lower shelf props were dislodged in a shoving match the whole six layers came tumbling down.

      A quiet pride existed over the next fifteen minutes as every one admired their own finished work placed carefully beside them.

      ‘Good job everyone. Now let’s spend the next ten minutes cleaning up before recess,’ Melinda called out to the chattering class.

      She began replacing the lids on the glaze buckets. Tables were wiped. Unfinished works shelved in damp cupboards. Students and carers filed out.

      As Melinda closed the studio door she noticed that Kevin had made a good job of the light switch.