It’s sanded surface is sensuous to the touch, even as an unglazed bisque. I look at it and see so many possibilities for something amazing happening and still I can also see so many ways to fail.
Opening the studio notebook from fall of 2015 to revisit “A Compass Rose”. This was a collaboration with Jessica Fong and was one of our favorite pieces. Unfortunately it left the shop as soon as it was offered up and we didn’t get a chance to explore the surface enough.
The solution is to shepherd a few more bisqueware through the kiln and see if we got the recipe down.
It’s usually not as easy as that though.
Cone 10 Rod’s Bod, 6 Tile slip, cut paper stencils, cobalt 50/50 wash, red shino
I’m a little excited about this one. This is a look at a sample of the bisqueware that’s headed out to the salt kiln at the Cobb Mountain Art and Ecology Project north of Napa in October.
It’s another round of experiments testing slip and glaze interaction in a salt kiln.
There’s a black stain that’s been applied and wiped off before the entire surface was sanded to knock off any sharp edges. The result was unexpectedly nice to hold and looks pretty nice as is.
There’s a round of 13 of these headed up. About half will get a thin shino dip, the other half will get a Helmer Flashing Wash.
They might come out of the kiln looking awesome, but there’s always a much better chance they’ll just come out all cocked up.
Gotta take the chance though.
For a man that refuses to gamble, I spend a large amount of my resources just “letting it ride”…
Tiny secret.A few years back, my studio partner and I would cut vases of flowers for the people in our lives that were around us. We gave away bouquets because it felt like a wonderful way to share a very simple joy that we found when we spent time together gathering them together.
Of course, like any piece of art, without the maker standing along side of the piece, the work is forever open to interpretation…
But at the moment, I am here and I’m going to speak what this means to me.
As of late, more often than not, I feel very much like an old rooster. That grumpy old cock, strutting around, preening to prove my worth in an effort to avoid the ax of the master of the barnyard… Chasing the lone firefly across the night. Like Love, as we chase it, it sneaks up from behind.
Who’s chasing who?