But inside the mind of Clarice Cliff, it was raining orange, royal blue, and emerald green.
Colley saw the fire in her eyes—a spark that matched the vibrant pigments on her palette. Against the advice of every senior manager, he gave her a small, cramped room at the back of the Newport Pottery. It was cold, damp, and smelled of turpentine, but to Clarice, it was a palace. The Colour Room
In the grit-grey heart of the 1920s Staffordshire Potteries, the world was a study in soot. Smoke from the bottle kilns—those great brick mammoths—constantly choked the sky, staining every brick and every spirit a dull, repetitive charcoal. But inside the mind of Clarice Cliff, it
Clarice didn't flinch. "I call it 'Bizarre,' sir. Because that’s what they’ll say when they see it. But they won’t be able to look away." It was cold, damp, and smelled of turpentine,
This is a story inspired by the life of Clarice Cliff, a pioneer of modern pottery, as reimagined in the spirit of the film The Colour Room .