Stupid Kiln Bricks

The Tenth Rule of Kiln Building States: No matter what, you will end up half-assing something. (The Sixth Rule of Kiln Building is "Have the right equipment." I haven't yet formulated the others, although they are there in my brain, swimming around, disarticulate.) Is it bad if my half-assery begins before the burnerport layer?

Despite all my careful measuring, levelling and squaring, the first layer, all soft brick, is a half-inch wider in both directions than my second layer. This only matters on the corners, where the angle iron will need to come all the way down past the top edge of the cinder block in order to accomodate a tie rod which will run below the stack. At least, I think that is the only place it will matter, so I nipped off the end of the corner brick Cutting soft brick is a breeze with a coping saw. Cutting hardbrick is a different story, requiring lots of  patience and a good chisel, or else an expensive chop saw. (Of the tree, I possess only the chisel.) In fact I re-laid the hardbrick floor layer when I was halfway done, to avoid having to cut hard brick. Undoubtedly I will have to do ti at some point, but I'm not going to do it when it can be easily avoided. It's not what I would call recreational.

Each layer seems to require me to stop and cogitate for a while before moving on to the next. In theory that should prevent re-dos like the aforementioned; in practice I think some re-dos are inevitable. Maybe that is the 11th rule of kiln building.

Rain Delay, Millefiori, and a T-square

I woke in the middle of the night on Monday thinking, t-square. I spent all that time laboriously levelling the cinderblocks and soft bricks on the top plane but forgot to square the sides. Stupid stupid stupid; but not as stupid as getting ten rows up and noticing that the kiln is askew. 
So I went and bought a t-square, which I am dying to use, but it's raining again. I'm not made of sugar (sweet as I may be) but even under the shelter, kilnbuilding in the rain is no fun; and it is supposed to clear up later.
So I am doing something else in the meantime. While demonstrating contrasting inlaid clay for my Monday night class, I had a flashback to a millefiori technique I used to teach to summer camp kids, back when I taught at the Bloomington Art Center, in Minnesota. (Hi Sue! Miss you!) I am exploring this technique a little more this morning, and if I haven't said so already, this is why I love teaching: it pushes me to try new things, and remember and change up old things.
I start with two short coils of contrasting clay, and flatten them out. Brush a little (a very little) vinegar on one surface, and then lay one on top of the other. The bottom one will be the outer color of your millefiori slices. Starting on one short end, roll the two up into a spiral; then roll the spiral like a coil to make it wider and narrower.
At this point you can cut slices from the cane, with a flexible metal rib not a fettling knife (thinner blade, less distortion.) I like my canes square, so I tap and paddle the bi-colored coils square before I cut them.
You can use the resulting spiral slices in many ways; for the dessert plate above, I lay the slices on a 1/4 slab, and then gently rolled in both directions. I didn't flatten them out completely, but left the appliques just a hair higher than the surface of the slab.

First Layer: For Realz!

I was able to build the entire first layer -- soft brick to protect the cinder blocks -- out of salvaged brick. Sweet! I got all the way to the last course before I had cut a brick. I took it as as my sign to take a break, since my coping saw needs a blade. Doug and I took a walk to the hardware store, which happens to be across the street from our neighborhood pub...you can see where this story is going. Doug likes to order oddball drinks, that small town bartenders won't see often; this young lady was easily stumped by a Vodka Gimlet. Anyway we are done kiln building for the day. Tomorrow it's back to the IPTOG, so I won't make any progress until Thursday. Maybe Wednesday night, if the weather cooperates. 

It's not a technical, kiln building tip, but I do want to suggest: if you, like me, suffer from anxiety when faced with a challenge, try writing it out! I experinced a paralyzing anxiety from the moment I ordered the brick (notice how few blog posts in March, April, and May) until I wrote out my fears. Now I can't wait to build! If it doesn't reach temperature, well, hell -- I'll keep adjusting it until it does! If need be, I'll tear it down and rebuld it! But that won't happen. I've got Fred Olsen (and a few other knowledgable friends) on my side. This is gonna be good. 

Sweat the Small Stuff

I'm very level-headed. At least, I am now! Last night I dreamed of that mysterious, Kryptonite-green liquid, and of capricious, hard-to-please sliding bubbles.

I don't know if I am being more persnickity than is strictly necessary, but I do know that there is no fix for not-persnickity-enough. Though "half-assed" could be my middle name, in this case, I am making sure it's done right.

A couple of things:

• The sand I got, called paving sand, was actually a little too coarse for the second layer.  Once I started using shreds of inswool, things got easier. Silica shot or fine grog might be better. Don't use it to level the first layer, though: 80 pounds of silica shot would be an unnecessary expense. 

• The second layer was at least a million times easier than the first. Which makes sense, as I was laying the second layer on top of a foundattion which had already been levelled. 

• Because the whole kiln is dependent on the sand underneath to keep it level, we needed to channel water from a nearby downspout away from the kiln pad, which lay just slightly down grade from the stream. Doug solved the problem for now by digging a channel leading away. Probably I will have to do something (not sure what yet -- half-pipes? Do they sell those?) to make that a permanent feature. 

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Blogging Cinder Block Saturday

...and it's pouring. No fair! There is of course a kiln shelter, but the blocks are not currently under it. Will the sand level out true if it's wet? Maybe it will stop by the time I have a second cup of coffee and get dressed.
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Okay, scrambled eggs and refired beans (not a typo; that's what I call them) under my belt, a third cup of coffee, and though the rain has diminished, it's still pretty steady. I am off to Home Depot to buy angle iron: either one piece, 6 ft long, to do the levelling, or all four, since I will need them for the kiln's exo-skeleton. Do they sell angle iron at Home Depot? Hmmm...well, if they don't I'll let you know. You know what I miss? Fleet Farm. As the name implies, it is actually a farm supply store, but, excepting refractories, you can get anything you need for kiln building at Fleet Farm. If you live in Minnesota. Which I don't, anymore.

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Okay, I got the angle iron...but it doesn't look right. Angle iron is supposed to be blackish and look like it was forged by Vulcan himself, as primal as clay. This is metrosexual angle iron, bringing to mind skyscrapers and briefcases. In fact this isn't iron at all; it's steel. 

Geez louise, what does it matter? I'm only using it today to level the sand. Anyway steel is stonger, right? That's why they invented steel. Superman is called the Man of Steel, not the Man of Iron. Silver is a nice color. I'll get used to it. 

It is a measure of my inexperience that something like this is throwing me into a minor tizzy. Anyway I don't have to decide today. Later I'll call Paul Dresang, who taught me everything I know about kiln building. HA! Maybe I will have a word with him about that, too. Seriously, though, Paul will know the answer and be kind enough not to laugh at the question. 

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Two pieces of not-necessarily intuitive information, leftover from the plumbing removal:

• No end of propane pipe can be left open without a either baso valve or a cap, regardless of how many simple valves are between the tank and the open end. The propane company will throw a legitimate hissy fit, and perhaps even pull your service. 
• DO NOT use a rubber cap for a propane pipe. Propane as it emerges from the tank, where it is liquid, is so cold that, should it ever touch the rubber, it will freeze and likely crack it, rendering it useless. I got a metal cap. I got the wrong size at first, because I meansured the exterior dimension of the pipe. Pipe sizes are described by the internal diameter. Fine Mess Pottery: We fuck up, so you don't have to!

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80 pounds of sand. WIll it be enough? Hard tellin', not knowin', as we say in Maine.

And the answer is, "Yes!" 80 pounds of sand looks like about the right abount to level an approximately 4' x 4' kiln. It does make me wonder, though: What is to stop the sand from slowly washing away, over years? I should think of a way to protect against that. Othe people don't use as much sand, I think, because they probably start with more level concrete pads.

And now for the slow process of levelling the blocks. They beed to be levelled both the long way and the short way, individually and relative to each other. This is looking to take longer than I expected, so I am publishing now, against the possibility that this will take all day, and I won't feel like typing anymore, when I am done.

Just Another Way to Procrastinate Kiln Building

I often walk around in my life with the feeling that other people know something about living that I don't. Like, maybe there was an instruction manual, and my kit just didn't come with it. I always feel like I am just bluffing my way through, vastly relieved that so far no one has noticed that I am not, in fact, a grown-up at all.

I might buy that most people feel this way, more or less, but some clearly don't. I have a friend who, some 3o years ago, bought a shell of an old farmhouse, with no plumbing, wiring, or insulation. He proceeded to install all of those things himself, despite having no education in such matters. He just assumed he could do it, and then he did it.

I particularly envy people who have that kind of confidence about kiln building. My old kiln is demolished, and we took apart the plumbing today, and I have the brick, so there are really no obstacles to construction. Still I linger over The Kiln Book, hoping one more review will cause me to understand such passages as:

The K factor is a measure of orifice efficiency, based upon its shape and approach angles against a frictionless orifice. This efficiency has a value from 0.4 to 1.3. The best atmospheric burners have a value or 0.8 to 0.85

Actually typing it out seemed to have a salutatory effect of my comprehension. Perhaps instead of reading it, I should be copying it over!

Anyway sometimes naming my anxiety decreases it; and tomorrow I must decide the placement of the burners & ports, an necessary step after which I can begin placing and levelling the cinder blocks upon which the kiln will rest. Then come two layers of brick, and then the walls. I will begin by pretending to assume that I can do this thing, and then I will do it.

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.