Demolition Derby

Well, more like demolition debris. I had a plan to invite all the strong guys I know to come and help take apart the kiln; in fact that was set for June 5. But my brother-in-law, visiting from Massachusetts, had a better idea: just bust it up. Since I had already decided I was not planning to re-use the arch, I should have thought of that myself. So he grabbed his two-pound sledge and we went to work.











There were some salvagable brick in the walls -- not that I expect to need them, but it's better to have too many. The rest could, I suppose be ground up to make castable -- any takers?

First Steps

Doug and I spent last Sunday loading brick into a rental truck. Though it took all day, it was less arduous than I had imagined it would be; we took plenty of breaks and had assistance from Reeder Fahnestock, Watershed's Facilities Director. The very brittle soft brick are in the cardboard boxes in the back, the hardbrick in front to help prevent the boxes shifting.

Now that the brick are home, they seem to be demanding to be made into a kiln; both Doug and I find ourselves exponentially more eager to move forward. I came home from the IPTOG Monday night to discover that he had stripped the kiln; all of the loose furniture and brick, including the 150 pound doors, had already been removed. If I had known this was happening, I would have attempted to forbid it, as it's too easy for a person to get hurt moving such heavy objects alone, and no one to call for help if an injury did occur. However, it's done now: no harm, no foul.

The arch is another matter. It is composed of two enormous bloocks of castable, each of which weigh in excess of 250 pounds. Or not; I don't know. I'm just guessing, but I know that even when they were sitting on smooth concrete, I couldn't even budge them, pushing with all my might. I am not a large woman but I can carry around 100 pounds if I need to, so I know they must be approximately a shitload more than that. I had originally thought to re-use the castable arch, but now I am thinking, I might as well build the kiln I really want -- which is to say, bigger -- so I don't end up doing this all over again in a couple of years. In order to get bigger, I need to widen the kiln as well as make it taller (tallen it?) as an approximate cube is the most efficient shape for firing. 

Anyway, the next thing is to lift those monsters off the walls, and then take down the walls, which are themselves crazy-heavy, but we could probably partially deconstruct them before moving, as we will have no further need of them . Calling all he-men!

Last Bisque

I unloaded the last bisque firing from my old kiln yesterday. I am not sure how to feel about this. On the one hand, I am not sentimental about inanimate objects, on the other, in some ways a kiln, when it is firing, almost seems alive. On the third hand, I am greatly looking forward to the new kiln, which will make my life a whole lot easier once it is built.

There's the rub for lazy me: between now and that happy day lies a tremendous, daunting amount of work. So rather than begin it, I'd rather sit here and eulogize my elderly dragon.

Four friends and I bought the kiln in late 2004. We thought we had a home for it. My studio in Portland was located in an industrial building in the Munjoy Hill neighborhood (a delightful place. I lived in the neighborhood also, and it always reminded me of Sesame Street, if Sesame Street had overlooked Casco Bay.) When I called my studio landlord, he readily agreed we could keep and fire the kiln there --  suspiciously readily, I now see. I thought I had done a pretty good job of describing the kiln and firing, but once he saw it in place, he very politely freaked out. I admit its appearance does not inspire confidence. 

We tried hard to persuade him. We brought him to Portland Pottery to see a gas kiln in action. We submitted a plan in accordance with city codes for fireproofing the studio. He was having none of it. Thankfully he wigged out befpre the kiln was plumbed; I would have really been pissed if we'd taken on all that trouble and expense. 

Next we searched for a home for it in Portland. I visited studios and warehouses; I made a hundred phone calls. No thing. This went on for months, during which time I purchased a home in Augusta, 50 miles away. Shortly thereafter, my studiomate, who is one of the kiln partners and whose space thte disassembled kiln was mostly occupying, finally lost patience and said the kiln had to go, somewhere, anywhere. He needed his space back. 

Though I felt selfish doing it, we took the kiln to my place in Augusta. The fact was it needed a home, and I had a place for it. Unfortunately that meant it was 50 miles away from the other partners. I remained open to moving it should a location arise, but once it was homed, we sort of stopped looking. Good thing, too, because it turned out to be unsuitable for Cone 10 reducation firing. I've been using it as a bisque kiln and doind my firings at the Watershed Center, and longing for the day I could glaze fire at home. Imagine loading over a few days, in good weather: how much easier would that be? Imagine weeding the garden or cleaning up the studio, or, hey, getting a jump on the next firing while the cones fell. 

Now that time is upon me. The brick are waiting, the plan is laid down...It's time to say goodbye, and hello. 

Dog Story

A couple of years ago, my husband and I adopted a dog. Not entirely by choice, but it has nevertheless worked out pretty well. He has an oddball name, given him by my brother-in-law, but to spare explanations I just sort of nicknamed him Q. This pleases me because it is the initial of his actual name (Queequeg) and because it is the name of a recurring Star Trek villain (or anti-hero, perhaps?)

I promise I am going somewhere with this.

Anyway, Q has recently taken to running. We often keep him off leash in the yard, but lately -- and only after dark -- he has been waiting for a moment when no one is looking, and disappearing. He is a wily dog, and knows that if we find him, the fun is over; so we've come to realize that combing the neighborhood calling for him is counter-productive at best, and brings him home no sooner than lying in bed staring at the ceiling and praying he doesn't get hit by a car, encounter a coyote, eat something poisonous, etc. He returns sometime between 3 and 5 am. This has happened maybe six times in the last two months; though he has now lost his off-leash privileges, last night he escaped when the knot holding his rope to the porch failed. I refuse to believe that he untied it, but I know he would if he could.

(Not to get too far off on a tangent, but I feel I need to say, it's not like he's stuck in the house, pent up and bored all the time. He gets two, or more, long walks every day; he is free to run the 30 acres of Watershed, and play with the resident pooches, when I fire the kilns there; just yesterday he spent the day with me at Kennebec River Artisans to reprise his role as store greeter. He really has no excuse.)

Enormous procrastinator that I am, I wind up kicking myself that I've not yet gotten one of those tags made with our contact information. I always swear I will do it, while he is missing, and then forget about it after he comes back. While waiting for him last night, I had a bright idea: why don't I make him a name tag? Might as well do something useful since I won't be sleeping anyway. So I got up, trundled to the studio in my jammies (Yay for having my studio in the house!) and set to work. Something not too heavy, with no sharp edges; I think I still have some alphabet pasta around here? Here's what I came up with:

I felt a little silly doing it, but I obscured the number because it seemed like a poor idea to post it on the internet. Not that we ever answer the phone anyway. Much to my surprise, there are no 6s in alphabet pasta. No Is either. A disproportionate number of 8s. Still, nothing I couldn't work around. After I made this one (and Q still was not home) I thought, maybe other pet owners would like something a little more stylish than those metal bone-shapes with stamped number, so I made a sample:

I famously hate custom work, of course, but this feels different. Custom dog tags! I'm doing it.

Q is home again, and now secured to a chain instead of a rope. He knows I am pissed off, but I can't stay mad for long. (He knows that, too.) I might have made a mistake, giving him such a mischeivious namesake.

I Hate Teapots

Well...hate is a strong word. And I don't hate teapots so much as I hate making teapots. Other people's teapots can be quite delightful. And, since it's just you and me, I'll admit: I hate teapots for the same reason I used to hate lids and handles, many years ago. I just didn't do enough of them, so I wasn't very good at them. Any of my students will gladly tell you my stand on handles now: Anything that is good without a handle is better with a handle. And making lids gives me joy, because lidded pots are so very useful , but also just because I feel good at it. I have a facility with the form that allows me to relax and enjoy the process.

So, the real problem is that I only make teapots once a year. And that time is upon us! Portland Pottery's Annual Teapot show is opening Friday May 7th, from 6-9. There will be lots of wonderful pieces by lots of wonderful artists; door prizes; and guests can vote on their favorite teapot.

In preparation for this event, I took a quick tour of the teapots that have ended up as garden sculpture, due to stuck-down lids, cracked bottoms, funky spouts, or general disfunction. Most are mine, but a couple were donated by a student. BTW -- not that I wish ill fortune on anyone's efforts -- but there is always a home in my garden for any teapot whose original calling does not work out. I love teapots!

Ready, Set, GO!

Okay, here's something I never do, because I fear focus on quantity diminishes quality; but I am going to try and throw enough to fill my bisque kiln, today.

The reason is, I just noticed that a piece that absolutely must be finished by April 1st, didn't make it into the yesterday's bisque. As Bugs Bunny would say, what a maroon! My kiln is only about 16 cf 27 cf (obvs. I wasn't a math major!) so there's no problem throwing that much; it's just finding time to trim, handle, and decorate all those pots, and still have time to get them dry and bisqued before the next glaze firing.

I won't sacrfice quality or style, and, honestly, it may turn out that they don't get done. I did not overspeak when I said this one piece must get done; but I have other options. No one would mind if I added one piece to Portland Pottery's kiln, and they bisque once or twice a week. But once the idea occured to me, it seemed like a good one, as a kind of research project. How much can I make and finish (wetwork, anyway), while preserving my somewhat decorative style, in a single week, if I really push? It seems to me this would be a good piece of information to have, for business planning purposes.

And you can help! If you see me on Twitter, or noodling around on Facebook, give me a nudge. Just, you know, a gentle, "Aren't you supposed to be throwing?" I have ADD, so I do tend to get distracted.
So what am I doing here? Up, up, out of your PJs, into the studio! Right, then -- I'm off.

Easy DIY Slab Mold

A beautiful day can be a kind of a burden, as I almost feel guilty for spending it inside. On the other hand, if I go outside and just noodle around in the garden, I feel guilty for not getting my studio work done! Can't hardly win. It's too early to move into the summer studio, but I did find an outdoor clay project for today.

I've been wanting to make some slump molds for slab building out of some leftover insulating foam I have kicking around the house. It's a good material to use, as it is cheap, waterproof, and can be cut in any shape; although the cutting was the hold up. The molds I had seen had very rough edges, requiring a lot of finishing work at the leatherhard stage. A student of mine (God Bless my students -- I learn so very much from them!) who usd to be a set designer suggested cutting it with a hot wire, to get a nice clean line. The wasn't feasible (for me -- but I'd love if someone tried it, and let me know the results!) but a hot fettling knife, now, that I can do. This is strictly an outdoor project, as the fumes generated by melting the insulating board are nasty.  

Draw the shape you want beforehand. Conveniently, I am firing a bisque today, so I just stuck the blade of the knife right into the flame to heat it up. It doesn't take long - 10-15 seconds -- and if the metal is glowing, the blade is too hot. The foam will melt before the knife even touches it.

The knife when it first comes out of the flame, will cut more quickly than you expect: even faster than a hot knife through butter! But it cools quickly, and there is a relatively short period between "too hot to control" and "too cool to cut cleanly."

Here is my first effort. It looks a little sloppy but made a good mold. I think with a little practive I can get a cleaner cut. Notice the beveled edges. These are important, because the slab of clay is going to stretch at the edges of the mold. The bevel keeps the stretch from being too extreme, and tearing or (later) cracking the slab.


After draping the slab over the mold, pick up the two together and drop onto the (porous!) table top. This will cause the slab the slump down into the mold.

Voila!

March Goal Setting

March's birthstone, the aquamarine, is said by mystics to have countless positive effects on the wearer. Most auspiciously, it is used to treat those in whom procrastination is an affliction! Not that I know anyone like that -- do you?

In the spirit of non-procrastination inspired by aquamarine, I am setting down my goals for March now, almost a full seven hours early! (See, it works!)

• List 20 more items in my 1000Markets shop. (Did I mention I now have a 1000 Markets shop? I did? Oh.)
• Complete and deliver my current wholesale order
• Send out wholesale samples to prospective accounts
• Finish the sample vessel sink
• Approach one new consignment outlet
• Fire one soda & one stoneware kiln.

Whew! March is gonna be madness, alright. I am tired already. 

Aquamarine is also associated with The Hanged Man of the Tarot deck, who encourages seekers to turn away from material things and seek solitude. Sounds like a perfect time to quit the IPTOG. 

Kidding! I'm just kidding. 

Liveblogging the Great Clean Up!

Well, sort of.  Blogging as I go, anyway. 

My studio is splashed all over with dry glaze and littered with dirty brushes and tubs. (Can't wait until summer when I can again glaze on the deck, and clean up with a hose!) Every surface in my dining room is covered with pottery waiting for a home! It's time to take a day away from making and selling and just start straightening things up. I am not the neatest person in the world -- maybe not even in the top ten - but mess does bother me, and I can't concentrate with my house looking like this.

So, first order of business: sort pots. At least half of these belong to a wholesale order. Others go to various consignment locations. I need to get those marked and packed, so I know what's left. Off to do that. 

This is more complicated than it seems. Each consignment location has an inventory form, and they prefer that the inventory lists be presented on their own form. If it were up to me I wouldn't bother with the forms at all, as I trust in the good intentions of all concerned. But they want it all documented, as it protects them, too. In fact I did have a far-away consignment outlet to which I sent much more inventory than I ever received payment for, and they were asking for more; which is why I don't do far away consignment anymore. That, and sometimes getting nailed for return shipping as well! But anyway, I am now trying to dig out all of the appropriate forms. Arrgh! I need a printer. The I could just keep an electronic copy of each, and let Mr. iMac keep track of them for me. Isn't that what computers are for?

Finding these is turning into a dusty job. 

Alright, nevermind that, I'll just hand write them for now. Those can go to the car.

Which leaves me with the wholesale pieces. Those are easier, as I have a list right here to hand. Just gotta check 'em off & pack 'em up. Grab me a sticky label & a sharpie, and....done. 

Now I can see what inventory I have available to approach new locations, or to list on 1000 Markets. (Did I mention I opened a 1000 Market shop? Oh.) Not that much, actually, but I will take it down cellar (as we say in Maine; we also say "up attic" but mine is not easily accessible) to the overstock shelf. Here's my dining room, reclaimed. 

But that's the afternoon, nearly done, and Q still needs a walk. No wonder I never get anything done, it all just takes so long! I guess I will tackle the studio this evening. Or not.

And you thought a potter's life was all mud wrestling, and glamour.

Pots from Sunday's Firing

I took these rather hurriedly yesterday, as it was nearly 4 pm and I was losing my light. Overall I was pleased with the firing, especially the reds. My rutile blues were a little puny -- the glaze had frozen and thawed, and I should have added a little vinegar before use. In fact I did add a little vinegar halfway through glazing, and I can definitely see which pots were glazed before, and which after! Vinegar is a flocculent, which means it causes particles to stay in suspension longer, and will have the effect of making glaze seem thicker, although there is there same proportion of material to water.

Some of these pots are destined for Attrezzi; some for KRA and other consignment; and one I owe to my sister, since last summer. But some will find their way to my new 1000 Markets online shop! (I just never give up -- moron that later.)

Mud Season Comes Early

Had a little misadventure at Watershed today when I went to unload the kiln.

The firing was fine, my celadons & iron yellows particularly nice, as were the pots in Waxy White; it's the first time I have used that glaze on brown clay. The rutile blues were a little puny. I'll post some photos, after I have a bath and a nap, because!

As I usually do, I drove my 98 Dodge Neon right across the lawn up to the kiln. The lawn didn't look any different than usual; wetter, sure, but not especially muddy. When I was as young as you are, I would have toted those bins right across that expanse of grass, but I am 45 and don't have to upper bod strength that I used to. (Also, one arm still doesn't work quite as well as it should.) Normally this poses no problem, but mid-coast Maine has had a great deal of rain in the last couple of days. I got the car loaded up, but as I was backing out, the front end suddenly dropped about 10 inches, and the tires just spun uselessly. Each tire had been engulfed by its own miniature sinkhole - caused perhaps by mole tunnels? We don't know - so the chassis was resting on the ground, the wheels up to the axels in mud, where there had previously been turf. Watershed's director, Tyler Gulden, came out to push, but the tires had nothing to grab on to. Jenipher Cooley, the adminstrative assistant (herself glowingly pregnant), brought her Jeep around to pull me out, but we couldn't get to the tow hooks, as there was no space between the front end and the ground. I dragged out the little toy jack that came with the car, but the ground near the tires was so soft the the jack mostly managed to push down Maine a little bit, without raising the car much of any at all. 

At last there was nothing for it but to call a mechanic, who came out with a giant jack and a winch.  The car popped right out, fortunately, and it only set me back $40. Q the wonder dog waited patiently on the back seat throughout. 

I want to shout out a special thanks to Tyler and Jen, who took time out of their busy day, and got muddy while Watershed has no running water due to a power outage. You two are real troopers. 

Don't touch that dial! Pots later. 

Picture Perfect Firing

The firing was without incident -- like you see in the pictures. Or, like you would see, if anyone ever made movies about firings, which are notably less sexy than throwing, more akin to watching paint dry for the movie-going public. The kiln climbed quickly and (relatively) evenly in oxidation until 012,  right on the dot of which I put it into a heavy body reduction, which looked like this:

I kept the damper in until 05 was touching, then backed off into its much lighter climbing reduction until 8 was over. This is right by the book, and the way that I intend to fire every time; but usually something happens, like I go for a walk and 012 is a puddle; or the top is so much hotter that the bottom has barely got red heat by the time the upper 012 goes. A similar set of mishaps can happen at glaze reduction, but not this time. This time we (that would be the royal "we") were right on the money. I am a tiny bit superstitious, though...You know how, if a piece looks too good going into the kiln, you won't like it when it comes out? What if a firing looks too good? what if nothing stupid happens, like a forgotten cone pack, or, I don't know, a low pressure system that messes with your reduction? Is it cursed?

It's not. I'm sure it's not. I am only worrying about this because I don't have anything real to worry about.
Thanks to the IPTOG, I will not be able to unload until Thursday. (These four-day weekends seem to be getting shorter and shorter.) Can't wait!