Life in Lockdown

It was during these final days before the lockdown when Anneke Borren, 73, was allowed a quick visit to her pottery studio to grab 50 kilograms of porcelain primo clay. Her wheel was out of bounds now, but she still had her fingers. Borren would make clay whistles - 10 a day, hopefully - for the duration.

Borren drove her campervan to her niece's home in Paremata. It was a gnarly trip to get the vehicle up the driveway but she was just glad to have somewhere to park her home. It was familiar here too. Down below she could see the boatshed where she lived for a year after her divorce. Her old house, sold to buy her campervan, was nearby. She could walk the old paths again.

Eight per day, she discovered, was a more realistic tally for the ornately patterned whistles.

The truth was despite the risks coronavirus posed to older people, Borren was fatalistic about life and death.

It was comforting to think her pieces would last a hell of a lot longer than she ever would. She was glad she created them for the world, and that they were beautiful, and that other people enjoyed that beauty, whether they were a baby holding a pot 25 years in the future, or someone holding it now.