Here in the town of Vallauris, I am gingerly placing ceramic forms into a niche above this old private well in the Cabanon.

What does one do with a private well these days?

Draw up a cup to boil for the morning coffee?

I mean, how do you even know it's clean down there?

Oh sure it sounds romantic (just like old times):

Lowering down a bucket, you watch it swing gently, back and forth at the end of your rope.

A bit of awkward submerging then gulp - and up it comes.

Cool and clear, traditional and refreshing:your pure and private water.

Drink your hearts out, Evian, Vittel

... and 200 more brands of bottled authenticity.

A small section of my sculpture hits the metal grating and breaks away (the part where, in the heat of the kiln firing, an oozing kiln post fuses one of Dale's porcelain cups to my hand-pinched stoneware grid).

I hear it crack, watch it fall silently for several moments before breaking through the gleaming skin of black water. I can see something floating down there.

From what I can tell of its shape and size

... it looks like a handgun

But that couldn't possibly float. It could be an adult toy.

Water everywhere, and how do you know this isn't the ideal breeding ground for several types of dangerous mosquitoes?