The brief was to honour the potter as the tradition honours the Mother, so he takes the large central seat under a cusped arch — the enthroned position — throwing a tall pot on his wheel with his beehive kiln rising beside him. Below him I arrayed rows of fresh pots and diyas in tidy repeats, almost like a woodblock border, so the abundance of the kiln reads as ornament rather than clutter. The potter and the Devipujak are kin in a real sense: both work the earth — the potter shaping clay, the Vaghri cloth traditionally finished in the river — and the diya he makes is what lights every shrine, including the Mother's. Panels of the potter family carrying, drying and selling the ware ring him, the household labour the tradition has always shown. Madder red, iron-black, cream: the workshop becomes a quiet shrine to the craft, in three colours.