THE LAST WITNESS

Two metres and five centimetres of high gloss ceramic, standing under a sheet.

The classic ghost, the one a child draws, made at the scale of a person and finished in mirror glaze so it reflects the room it haunts. Whoever stands in front of it appears on its surface, distorted, at full height.

Nobody agrees on what it is doing. Some people read grief. Some read a joke. Some walk around it twice and go quiet.

Ceramic at this height is unreasonable. It fires slowly, it cracks for reasons nobody can fully predict, and there is no repairing a failure at the glaze stage. The piece either survives the kiln or it does not exist.

One survived. That is the whole edition.