in the ceramic workshop

the owner of Göreme Seramik doodles on the faded vinyl tablecloth as we chat. he draws a careful circle as he tells me about the craft of ceramic painting in cappadocia. he fills the circle with six quick arcs as he tells me how his father was a painter, and his brothers. he ornaments the arcs with evenly-spaced dots as he tells me there are fewer and fewer people to carry on the tradition. he draws a carnation in the centre.

then he rises to attend to customers, leaving me at the table with his student and his brother.

there are no fewer than five compases on the square table. one, with a special arm for use on ceramic, rests on a pink sponge covered with drips of white clay. there is a plastic tub of sugarcubes and a packet of french cigarettes under a lighter decorated with turkish eyes. there is a turkish-english dictionary, and a box of tea glasses that maybe holds pencils and pens, the cardboard scribbled on endlessly. squares of tissue paper, gray with graphite, crinkle in the breeze that comes through the open door.

the student, to my left, wields a blue brush against a white plate. the plate is very white. it is a special kind of white clay, imported from Kütayha, which is where the owner and his brother are from. the white plate has a double border of two blue circles pained on, even and round and smoothly done. within the circles is a slightly smudged grid of tiny pencilled-in dots. nearby is a glass teacup that holds blue paint. the painter dips a chisel brush in and spreads dark wet paint onto a white tile, over lighter, drier blue paint from before. then he picks up a tiny fine brush, dips it, pauses, and begins.

he holds the plate in his left hand, anchors the pinkie of his right on its surface, and draws the first stroke. then he turns one fifth of the way at a time and makes four identical strokes to make the first lines of a star-shaped flower at the centre of the pattern. this is a design based on five.

he does the broad lines first. from each of the five petals springs the stem of another flower. five more flowers curl in from the outer border.

he uses his brush like a calligrapher, going from thin to wide using angle, rather than pressure. he paints without thinking. he angles in the stamens of the flowers, steering the brush sometimes over the guide-dots, sometimes between. he sees me watching and when my eyes widen he makes a gesture to say, so-so.

to my right, the brother works on a plate painted with an undercoat of flat gray. he works with his eyes close to the point of his instrument, which is a squeeze bottle so fine it uses a stick pin for a cap. he is doing a pattern based on woven lace from the women's craft bazaar up the way. it is a pattern based on six, eight and sixteen. there are six white circles around one in the centre, making a six-way set of arcs inside a hexagon; then eight leaves in a wider circle beyond. then there are sixteen curving triangles.

the brother works one segment at a time, unlike the student who works arc by arc, round and round. the brother draws in the thick, wide curves first, then ornaments them with spirals, then puts down hundreds of dots to fill the space, so that there is as much white paint overtop as there is gray underneath. every few points he cleans the tip of his instrument on the sponge, leaving white drips. when a segment is done he looks up, blinks, and reaches for his tea glass. after two segments of sixteen, his tea glass is empty and he refills it. he fills mine.

by this time the student has finished and it is time for his plate to dry so that more detail can be added in later. he carries it over to a stack of half finished plates, with bubblewrap between them. he gets tea, refills mine too. then he rubs his hands, and starts on the next piece. there is a stack of three more on the table, a dozen more by the door. he bangs the table as he sits down again: tea sploshes.

the desk behind the stove has a jar of pencils, a calculator and a ledger book. there are a dozen unfinished pieces waiting there, candlesticks and waterjugs, done in blue unglazed and unfired, with preliminary circles put down in white, more perfect than perfect. when the store owner returns he takes a book from behind his desk and hands it to me. it is a huge book navy blue book with no title on the front cover. the title page inside states: the pottery of ottoman turkey. it is an inch thick, pages glossy.

the student finishes all three of the white plates on the table before i am done turning the book's pages.

plates hang everywhere on the walls of the store. the biggest ones hang highest up, the smaller ones lower. they are organized by style. one wall is all white and blue and geometric. there are all kinds of variations on the tree of life. there are tulips, carnations, roses. there are brighter, more colourful, smaller plates nearest the door -- "for business," brought in from kütahya. also near the door are clocks, and fish and butterflies in orange.

from the crosspieces that divide the room into four hand spherical ornaments on knotted cords. there are shelves of vases, ashtrays, ceramic birds, turtledoves, ladybugs, slippers, cats. there is exactly one cat that has a paw raised to bat in playfulness. the shelves fit precisely in the arched windows. there is one shelf of doublehanded wine jugs like i recognize from the anatolian museum, terracotta with animals and lines in black and dots of red. there are open shelves in the centre with tea and coffee cups, bowls and saucers in pastel colours. there are urns. there are birdbaths.

the turquoise pieces get a room almost to themselves. there are greens and browns as well. looking at the array of them it is clear how green and brown are related colours of blue -- you can see it, you can almost taste the sweetsavoury glaze. many of the pieces have brushstroke calligraphy with geometric designs around.

my favourite by far is a plate with six circles woven around one central spiral. the spirals are vines and there are tiny, even leaves. it is blue on china white.

there are thousands of hours of work represented in this shop. the owner tells me that at night he does not bother to bring in his display pieces from out front.