By the studio door there’s a shelf of pots that didn’t pass: a pinhole in a glaze, a wobble in a rim, a kiln kiss where two bowls touched mid-firing. Priced kindly, labelled honestly.
Visitors head straight for it. Not for the discount, I’ve decided — for the story. A flaw is proof that a person made this thing on a particular day, and that the day didn’t entirely cooperate.
What stays and what goes
To be clear: cracked pots and crazed glazes go in the bucket, always. The seconds shelf isn’t about lowering the bar. It’s about admitting that some of the bar is taste, and taste has room in it for a wobble.