The walls are dull, the white paint over the cinder block walls faded and chipped. Near one of the metal doors leading outside, dirt or mold stains the mortar lines in stair-step fashion down from the ceiling, suggesting there is, or has been, a water leak. The door is chalky, gritty grey, with a thin vertical rectangle window above the horizontal bar that disengages the strike to allow the door to open when pushed.
On one side of the room, a line of pottery throwing wheels, paired to face one another, stand side by side. On the other side of the room is furniture and equipment: square work benches, a slab roller, a heavy table with a clay extruder attached to a bench. On the wall behind this assortment of equipment are lockers where students keep their clay, their sculpting tools, and miscellaneous supplies.
In the center of the room is a hundred-foot path to the glazing area and, beyond, the kilns.
Everything about this place looks old and poorly maintained. Even the concrete floor shows signs of wear. This place cannot be cleaned and painted into modernity; it is forever relegated to the years when it was young, years that have long since grown old.
Though it looks old, the studio is a productive place. It could use some newer equipment and a good cleaning, but it serves a purpose and serves it well.
