Heat and Illumination

It's July and the Big Sculptor has turned on the kiln outside to a "candling" temperature. This slow, low heat begins the maturation process in most clay bodies, but as far as I can see, when applied to human bodies, the opposite occurs. I personally mostly want to sit on a shaded cement floor eating ice cream with a fan on "high".
I had a tremendously productive week at the "Paper Clay & You" workshop in Idyllwild, CA. Up there in the San Bernadino mountains around 5-6000 feet above sea level, my concepts and dreams were elevated and my technical knowledge augmented far beyond my original goal for the class.
Although I went up there fully supplied, I came back with a whole new box of tools, so to speak. Working with paper clay under the spirited and uber-creative force that is Rosette Gault broke down many of my misconceptions about how clay ought to work.
As these things sometimes go, a wonderful thread of inspiration teamed up with a new-found set of technical skills and my next series of sculpture is taking shape clearly both in my head and in my sketchbook. I have generally worked very intuitively--often following a muse who is adventurous but occasionally very unpredictable. But the spirit who has whispered in my ear in the last week is fairly determined to set a course that requires some research into a specific area of concern: I am looking for historically documented women who have, in the course of their more-or-less everyday lives, been inspired to dig deeper and reach higher than expected, perhaps intellectually, perhaps intuitively, and in doing so, have created something bigger than their limited circumstances would have predicted. There are many women who have a fairly well known place in history for rising above their given "station". However, I feel drawn to find those whose contributions to history may not have been acknowledged by the world at large.
Stay tuned to see how this challenge develops...

Not quite coal, but...

I know you all held your breath waiting to hear the results of the first glaze firing.
And the verdict is....what happens at 1800 degrees Fahrenheit is trickier than I would have thought. The idea is simple enough: brush premixed commercial clear glaze onto already beautifully decorated pieces, pop into kiln, fire, and voila! A finished piece emerges.
Hah.
As I opened the lid, I heard a disconcerting and very odd pinging sound. Donning oven mitts, I carefully pulled out the top bowl. A shard of glaze about 1 inch long and 1/4 inch wide flew halfway across the room. Ping! Off fell another piece from the rounded edge of the bowl. I put the bowl down on my kitchen counter, and several additional smaller pieces popped off. I have read about this malady. It's called "shivering", and its about what I am doing about now. Wahhhh. There goes about 15 hours of my time. And in fact, after I completely unload the kiln, only two out of five bowls emerged un-shivered.
It's the old: What can I learn from this experience?
I guess I have learned that my new goal is to become a master (or mistress as it happens) of all that goes in and out of that kiln. My goal is to predict what will happen in there, not to rely on Luck and Hope, but on the convergence of knowledge and proper chemistry. Knowing that humans have been experimenting with blazing mud concoctions for thousands of years makes me feel a bit better that I haven't entirely conquered the process in two tries. And I have a distinct advantage in my day and age: internet search engines, keywords--Troubleshooting, Ceramics.

The Highs, and the Lowdown

So how did it go--they wanted to know. Did you have a good day at the Art Festival?
The day started the week before when there was an acute realization that the To Do checklist was still growing and time was shrinking. The day started a couple years ago, really, when I decided to follow my gut and my heart and create pieces that give me intense pleasure to make, in spite of occasional creative frustration. The day started at 6 AM when I gathered all the carefully packed boxes of artwork, the hastily packed boxes of clay, tools, lace, plaster bats, rags, receipt book, title cards, name banner, scissors, bucket, extra tables, extra chairs, extra packing materials, duct tape (just in case), snacks, water bottle, hat, sunscreen, purse, keys, and cell phone and packed it all into my minivan. By 10 AM I was ready for the steady, but light stream of art appreciators and patrons who strolled around the lovely wooded campus in search of inspiration and beauty to take home.
I don't think I will ever get used to hearing exclamations that let me know other people are enjoying looking at my sculpture at least as much as I enjoy making it. And it is completely gratifying when a piece is sold, because in some ways, the purchaser enjoys the piece even more than I do at that moment. Enjoys it enough to want it around for a long time (I assume), whereas I have already "moved on", focusing my attention on creating something new.
Yes, no doubt about it: it was thrilling moment when at the end of the day, I sold two pieces to a woman who couldn't decide which one she liked better. Even at this point in my life, there is a wonderful sense of completion in my creative process when someone who is not my mother feels something strongly spiritual when encountering my artwork. Although I expect I would keep doing it no matter the public reaction, making that connection is so sweet.
It was a good day.

mud + water + fire

As it happens, while I am taking my first blog around the block so to speak, my kiln is cooling with the first load of glaze ware it has held since its recent reconditioning. Buying this second hand kiln reminded me of the day I bought my first car in 1975--a classic beige VW Beetle. It was hardly new at the time it come to into my hands, not all that pretty, but gave great service. I sold it 6 years later for considerably more than I paid for it. I am hoping this kiln, which was being manufactured at the Cress factory about the year the Bug was purchased, will be as good an investment.
It fascinates me to stare into its deep hole of an eye during firing...peering into its fiery soul as it changes from deep cherry red to intense vermilion. Once I smelled that weird disgusting odor of singed hair and realized there are limits to peering into the depths of 1200 degrees Fahrenheit, even with many inches of firebrick between the glow and the hair on my chinny chin chin. But as the evening cools down considerably here in So Cal, so do the bowls and samples inside the kiln. There isn't much I can do to speed things along at this point, except wait until morning when I will open the top, and like Christmas morning, behold a beautiful gift, or a lump of coal.
Wish me luck.