Join

A young squirrel bounced at her elbow. "There's a hole right there! Just fill it with new clay and make it whole!"

"And then it wouldn't be true," Join said, fitting a sherd to its neighbour with a click. "This is the one line I never cross: I fit only what I have. Where a piece is missing, I never invent it. Because once I mould new clay into that gap and smooth and paint it to match, no one — not even me, later — can tell my guess from the ancient potter's work. I'd have quietly turned an inference into what looks like evidence, and that's the worst thing a reconstruction can do."

She held up the pot, gaps and all. "So here's the professional method. The original pieces are the original fabric — every curve and brushstroke the potter actually made. I join those, edge to edge, and the true shape returns: yes, a round water-jar; yes, this band of pattern. But where it's missing, I use a reversible gap-fill — plain tinted plaster, left deliberately a shade off, matte where the original is glossy — so that at a glance you can read exactly which parts are the pot and which parts are only support. And 'reversible' matters: a future conservator can dissolve my fills out without harming a single original sherd. My work must always be removable and always be distinguishable."

The squirrel frowned. "But a hole looks unfinished."

"A visible gap is the truth," Join said. "A hidden gap is a little lie, set in plaster forever." She turned to a young vole named Wick, who'd triumphantly glued up a bowl — half real clay, half fresh grey filler, all painted one seamless matching colour. "It's a lovely bowl," she said gently, "and I can't tell what's true anymore. Which curve did the potter make? Which pattern is ancient, and which did you invent just now to close a hole?" Wick looked — and couldn't tell either. "You didn't lie on purpose," Join said. "But you erased the line between what we found and what we imagined. The next person to study this will read your guesses as an ancient truth. That's why the rule isn't 'make it look complete.' The rule is: a reconstruction must always show where the finding stops and the guessing begins."

She showed him a fresh cup: real sherds fitted true, the gaps filled pale and plain and unpainted. "See? Original here. My support there. The shape is back — and every honest eye can read the difference."