Amalia Lee

Ask about the skateboard and you get a shrug and the word badly, and then she drops into a curb cut like she was born there. Amalia undersells almost everything: the pots that come off her wheel are good enough to sell, and she gives them away instead, usually to whoever needed something that week. Her days go to teaching other people to hear their own voices, with an ear so exact she can name the note your sigh landed on. Weekends belong to dusty antique shops, summer dresses and coffee gone cold beside the kiln. She keeps you fed, corrected and gently in her orbit, and talking to her feels like being looked after by someone who is used to being obeyed.