As I reflect on my weekend trip to New York, processing the deeply insightful conversations with woodfiring artists as well as the opportunity of making work in a wood fire studio, I find that I have come back with a better understanding of myself, my relationship to my work and a sense of excitement towards my electric kiln which up until now I had only thought of as a constraint or limitation. This post is mostly a note to myself, an attempt to capture the feeling of being grounded in my practice so that I can turn to these words when I am feeling unmoored ( which might happen the next time I see a delicious wood fired pot:)
My weekend adventures began with an impromptu visit to Peter Callas‘s studio, a living legend of contemporary ceramics. The excitement and anticipation of meeting my clay hero turned into complete awe as I experienced his immense generosity, humility and graciousness! The magic goes to a whole different level when a great artist turns out to be a great human being as well! Peter gave me my first insights into anagama firing, showed me his studio and kiln, shared some of his shigaraki clay with me, presented me with two autographed catalogs showcasing his incredible work, all while answering my very basic questions about wood firing with utmost patience and earnestness. A stellar teacher, he broke down the complex process of anagama firing and helped demystify the surfaces resulting from the alchemy of flame, ash and clay in a wood kiln and how nothing was happenstance but an active orchestration on his part. He explained how each piece was thoughtfully placed in the kiln with full awareness of how the flame would move across the work. He tempered the romanticism with a healthy dose of reality in terms of the sheer physicality of the process and it’s toll on one’s body. Peter said that there were times in his career that he was firing his anagama kiln five times a year, which meant, he essentially spent about a hundred days of that year standing next to his kiln, a fact about anagama firing I had never thought of. We wrapped up the evening with a look at his personal gallery and a screening of his biographical film, “Life on Fire” showcasing his journey dedicated to perfecting the art of wood firing. I left Peter’s studio feeling bouyant, inspired and deeply grateful for the thoughts he shared with me.
That evening as we made our way up to the Oki Doki studio in Germantown, still revelling in the euphoric experience, I had no idea that in teaching a two day hand-building worshop, I would learn things about my practice that I had never realized before. Oki Doki studio’s primary focus is wood firing and while my workshop had nothing to do with wood firing itself, just being in that space, working with an open clay body full of crunchy aggregates designed to respond to the flame, made me reflect on the impact of the choice of clay body and it’s relationship to forming techniques, facts that I had never really considered before. Let me explain. My practice has developed around working with a commercial clay body that is designed to vitrify at cone six. Since any additional aggregates like grog and sand adversely impact vitrification, I have tried to steer clear of those with respect to functional work. The clay, with it’s very minimal grog thus is rather plastic. When I hand build my rustic forms, I like to stretch, tear and push clay. However the plasticity of my clay body, tends to make those actions challenging and I have to come up with creative ways to address that, often resorting to working very stiff, using sodium silicate and such. Despite all my efforts, for the most part I feel only marginally successful. Sometimes I just can’t get that natural tear that I am striving for. Up until the workshop, I believed it was wholly a skill issue and I was just lacking in my practice. However when I was handed this crunchy, groggy clay body to demonstrate with at the workshop, the ease and beauty with which it tore, ripped and cracked, made me wonder, how different my clay practice would have been if I had the ability to work with such open clay bodies? It made me view my process in a new light and to reflect on the fact that how not just the firing but the clay body available to me at cone 6 adds another layer of complexity when trying to pursue the rustic look in an electric kiln. Needless to say, aside from teaching, I made an inordinate amount of work, staying way past studio hours to fully comprehend the relationship between the composition of clay and the making process.
After the first day of teaching, I had the opportunity to meetup with another fabulous woodfire artist, Meg Beaudoin. I have known Meg virtually for over 6 years and last weekend we finally got to meet up. It was obvious from the get go that we were meant to be great friends. Surrounded by her gorgeous wood fired pots, we talked about everything, right from the making process, to glazing, to her experiences as a participant in a communal anagama firing. It was eye opening to learn about the cost of renting space in an anagama kiln and how when participating in a collective firing one was not always guaranteed the positioning of their piece within the kiln. Another fact that I had not considered was days one spent away from home during firings and the travel back and forth between loading and unloading of pots due to the long cool down cycle, typical of an anagama kiln.
I have often lamented about how I have never wood fired and many of my friends have very kindly offered to fire my pieces in their kilns. While I have been extremely grateful for their offer, and have gotten some exciting results, the experience hasn’t been as fulfilling. I thought it might be because I had not personally participated in the actual firing. I hadn’t loaded, stoked or unloaded the kiln. However after this weekend, I have come to realize that even though I would love to participate in a communal wood firing someday just for the collective experience, It might not be the right path for me. Peter said that nothing was happenstance and that he orchestrated the look by controlling the flame and ash, Meg highlighted the challenges in dictating one’s preferences in a communal firing setting. Having developed my practice around intense experimentation, tweaking variables on whim in an attempt to achieve the look I am after, I can’t imagine a scenario of entirely relinquishing that control to someone else and not having an opportunity to experiment with the variables to the extent I am used to in my personal practice.
Now I am back in my studio, stretching and pushing my own claybody to make pieces that echo the nature around me. And as my attempts fall just a bit short of my expectations, I am a little kinder towards myself, understanding that it has a lot to do with the choice of clay and firing. As I shared these experiences with my dear friend Alejandra over the phone, our conversation made me deeply introspect my relationship with electric firing. Alejandra helped me fully absorb my experience and encouraged me to think of my electric kiln as an ally and not as a constraint. Thank you Peter, Andrew, Meg and Alejandra for the lessons you have imparted to me. I have learned so much about myself and feel more settled in my heart about clay journey. I am forever grateful to my clay community for their support and for expanding my horizons and helping me grow as an artist every day.