Chamotte, glazes, underglazes
20 x 15 x 12 cm
SOLD

Every Tuesday at precisely a quarter and two past three, a perplexing mystery beset itself upon the establishment of Leopold’s Eatery. That puzzle was none other than Rascal Randall. The regular patrons didn’t know much about Randall besides his name and prankish moniker. As such, speculation ran rampant. Every Tuesday he ordered a cobb salad and glass of red wine, so he must’ve been a man of good taste and refinement. But he had a proclivity for foul jokes and mischief, so he was a bit of a stinker. Nevertheless, the water ran murky. Randall boasted about being a marbles world champion, an elite cross-country skier, a bull wrangler. With each new piece of information came more conundrums. One thing that was for certain was that after he finished his regular meal he’d make a call to someone called ‘Boss’. But who was Boss? As it was, he appeared to be just another mystery that shrouded that Rascal Randall.

Chamotte, glazes, underglazes
25 x 15 x 12 cm
SOLD

Clyde had retired from bookkeeping sometime ago and was now living the charmed life being a little old rascal. He greatly enjoyed relaxing in his front yard and watching life tick by. He watched the leaves fall from the trees, cars and bicycles chug along on the street, and the neighbors’ children engage in all sorts of shenanigans—all from the comfort of the lounge chair on his porch. What he enjoyed most of all was messing with the neighborhood kids. It wasn’t a malicious mess-about, this fooling around. He simply pranked the children. He sent them on phony scavenger hunts, and he told them stories of hickorydoos, jibberjams, and other made up creatures. He convinced them he was an all-powerful, telekinetic wizard that could predict the future and read thoughts. It was regular scalawag behavior. Clyde was an old man with not much to lose, and this business kept him entertained. The children got a kick out of it too! Who wouldn’t be tickled living next to a prophetic wizard that sent you on treasure hunts and told tales of distant lands? No harm, no foul, all fun.

Chamotte, glazes, underglazes
20 x 15 x 12 cm
£630

Basil was the balloon-man, simple as simple could be. He was in charge of bringing color to the fairgrounds of the circus. Unfortunately, dear Basil wasn’t too good at this job. He scuttled about with fistfuls of balloons, jumping at any soul to peddle his colorful rubber wares. He’d squawk, “Buy! Buy! Buy!” as he shoved bunches of balloons in patrons’ faces. Of course, this approach was off-putting and hardly effective—most people would try to rush past or politely smile and say, “no, thank you.” After each rejection, of which there were many, poor Basil would screech and hurry off to the next victim to solicit. To be fair to Basil, ballooning wasn’t his first choice for a full-time profession. Really, all he ever wanted was to be a model. Fashion magazine covers to grand billboards, Basil always dreamed of his beautiful face and body being adored by the masses, but he never seemed to get ahead. Agencies rejected him, photographers passed him by, and know-nothings called him ugly! Could you believe the gall? The world wasn’t ready for his once-in-a-lifetime beauty, that Basil was sure of. So, he was stuck peddling balloons of all things… surrounded by plain circus folk. At least at the end of the day he still had his looks. 

Chamotte, glazes, underglazes
25 x 15 x 12 cm
£720

Enter Captain Barba’s souvenir shop… if you dare. Tucked in a dark corner of the circus, Captain Barba curated a twisted menagerie of otherworldly goodies, the unusual and strange alike. A petrified “mermaid”, captured “fairies” in glass cloches, or “real” stardust—Captain Barba had it all, and it was all mostly real. The truth was all the gifts in the Captain’s shop were handmade even though they were advertised as genuine. He didn’t see the harm in a little white lie or two, and, besides, it made him a good buck. So, in his off time he’d scour the sea shore in search of dried scraps that he could cobble together into his bona fide souvenirs. Finished, they made it to the shelves of his shop, ready for the next sucker- er, I mean, customer. 

It’s something to note that the circus didn’t originally intend on having a gift shop. Truthfully, Captain Barba just showed up one day with an armful of jars and trinkets and refused to leave until the circus relented. The circus called it pity, but Barba called it a business partnership—pretty official if you asked him. Oh, Captain Barba, you are a right scoundrel.