Art Is Everywhere

I started this blog to give a little background/insider info about my studio art, but it’s ended up being about a lot more: gardens and mice, people, places, frustrations and ideas. Writing about the things that interest me (and hopefully others) has helped define my own motivation for making art and remind me that… I’m just this way. I can work in an office sometimes to pay the bills, but my heart and hands will always want to be engaged in the creative process. Today as I sat out by the pond early in the morning watching the humming birds wrangle over the feeder (those Rufous are such bullies!), I realized how lucky I am to be able to do that, to interface with life and beauty every day and then translate it in the studio. And, of course, beautiful things are everywhere. Here are some photos from the garden offerings this week, and one of the commission pieces I’m working on.




If I were a jeweler, I’d make things that look like this, or the honeysuckle or apricots.

Who would’ve thought when I started making the Smallpurpose Dish, they would be the perfect size for two dead humming birds! The poor things sometimes get stuck in the studio when I’m not there (must remember to close to door) and I think they die of exhaustion. They need to feed 5-8 times per hour to stay active and gain a little weight to sustain them through the night. Although there are an estimated 338 species of hummers (varying wildly in size from 2 1/4″ to 8 1/2″ long) only 16 migrate to the US from Central & South America during the summertime. I think we have 6 or 8 species here in New Mexico. I found one of these recently, the other last winter. Strangely, there is no odor at all as they decay, which confirms my suspicion that they’re composed mostly of air.

As for work inside the studio, here is a picture of the 17th c. dish Joel Peter has commissioned

and here are my renditions drying on the table, each slightly different in size and proportion. It’s a funny little dish. I wonder what the pouring spout was for? I’m also working on a large-ish vase that gave me some trouble. I started it twice but I could tell the angle was off in the beginning so instead of collapsing them, I turned them into planters for the garden (aaah, more plants!). I’ll post pictures as they are completed later this week.

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New Pendants?

I had a request to make a pendant in the style of my raku tiles and vases so I thought, what the hey, I’ll make 10 while I’m at it. I contacted a jeweler to find out what those hookie things are for a chain to go through (bail, as I’ve learned), ordered some of those, and started painting. I wonder if I’ll like them, or think they look cheesy when they’re finished? Never know with new ideas. It’s nice when people ask me to do something I wouldn’t normally (within reason) because I often do like the results and it becomes a part of the inventory.

I’ve never painted anything so small as these pendants! The smallest is 1″ x 1″. People tend to think that small=inexpensive, but actually, it takes a lot of skill to paint miniatures. And for me, what makes miniatures look good is detail; can’t skimp on the detail or they look graphic and clunky. I use a tiny brush with about 4 hairs on it and can hardly see what I’m doing. Then I just hope the colors look good after they’re fired. It’s not like oil or acrylic painting, where you can keep working until it looks good. With painting on clay with underglazes (liquid, tinted clay), I sort of have one shot at it.

I’ll fire these tomorrow along with two small Aspens urns that someone has ordered through Funeria. Fingers crossed they all turn out well!

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Madrid, New Mexico & Kiln Opening [part 2]

These beautiful wind gongs by Bill Lloyd, made of recycled oxygen tanks, can be found at the Range West Stone Gallery in Madrid.

This will be the final post about the anagama wood firing I participated in over the past month. I’ve been asked a few questions about Madrid, New Mexico, so I thought I’d say a little about that, then conclude with a slide show of the gorgeous skies and people of the firing, a few pictures of Madrid, and a few of my pieces that sold at the kiln opening. Similar works are being listed this week in my Etsy store.

Madrid (pronounced ma-drid in these parts), New Mexico, is located in a valley of the Ortiz mountains, and is the oldest coal mining town region in New Mexico (as early as 1850). By 1892, the village was connected by a narrow gauge spur to the Santa Fe Railroad. By 1893 a seven story anthracite breaker was constructed, and by 1899 all coal production in the area was consolidated at Coal Gulch, which later became Madrid. Wood framed cabins were dismantled in Kansas and brought to Madrid by train to house the miners and their families. The town flourished as a “Company Town” of some 2500 people. In 1919, Oscar Joseph Huber was hired as full time superintendent of mines. Under his leadership, Madrid became a model for other mining towns to follow. Schools, a fully equipped hospital, a Company Store and an Employees Club were some of the benefits of life in Madrid during the 20′s and 30′s. However, production dwindled with W.W.II and the mines closed in the 1950′s.

In the early 1970′s Joe Huber (Oscar’s son), then owner of the entire town site, rented a few of the miner’s cabins to rugged individuals, artists and craftsmen eager to make a home in the mountains of New Mexico. He remained dedicated to the town he’d grown up in and its new community until his death in the late 1980′s. Madrid is now an active village with a quiet residential area and a short but bustling “Main Street” (State Hwy 14, also known as the Turquoise Trail or the scenic route between Albuquerque and Santa Fe) with galleries, shops and a few restaurants. It has a funky vibe, thanks to the conglomeration of hippies, tourists, locals, bikers, dogs, and artists who share in daily life.

I hope my vast readership have enjoyed this little foray into my adventures along the Turquoise Trail, through Madrid, and at the anagama kiln climbing a hill in the Ortiz Mountains.

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Anagama: Madrid wood fire days 6-7

I got home after 1 a.m. having completed my second 6-hr shift. The kiln reached temperature (cone 11-12 in most areas, about 2300 F) throughout most of the chambers and so, for the first time ever, we ended the firing on Saturday night instead of Sunday. Here is a slide show of last night’s events. (Some of the pictures are low-light blurry because my firing mates just wouldn’t sit still but I included them anyway.) And if these aren’t enough, click here to check out the live-action video that Jesse compiled from the day before… informative and entertaining!

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What the pictures don’t capture, besides the incredible thigh- and face-burning heat coming off the kiln, is the relationships: between ourselves and the fire, the kiln, one another. There’s something really special about a group of people coming together for a common purpose around a fire, as people have done for thousands of years whether for food, protection, comfort, ritual, or the creation of art. Fires of destruction and fires of purification. Just like water. Or tears. I’ve learned a lot about the nature of fire through working with clay: the colors of heat: red, light red, dark yellow, light yellow and finally white, not so unlike the colors of the sky at certain times.

But even after the thousands of hours our group have collectively invested in the study of fire through this kiln, we still find it mysterious and unpredictable and prone to moments of utter disaster or devastating beauty. Which, of course, is probably why we continue the journey. What the pictures don’t show is the way the kiln “breathes” fire back and forth through the chambers, the way it tells us where the heat is when flames peek out of the cracks, the way it sometimes won’t gain heat no matter how much wood we throw in the firebox or how tired we are.

Poet and mortician, Thomas Lynch, presents an interesting exploration of our relationship with, and attitude toward, fire with regards to burial practices in his book The Undertaking: Life Studies From the Dismal Trade. Why do we burn trash and bury treasure? Why are we allowed to watch burials but not cremations, like in Eastern cultures where funeral pyres are common? This and other contemplations, including his proposal about the practicality and potential profitability of combining golf courses and cemetaries, make a compelling read — equal parts humor, education, and astute observation.

What I’ve learned about fire is what I’ve learned about everything: if you study it long enough to learn it, I mean really learn it, you can begin to understand and respect, rather than fear, all that is Not You, whether mice or a kiln or people. Maybe fire fighters should be called fire understanders, or fire controllers. How can you “fight” something that doesn’t fight back? (Maybe this fits in somewhere with MLK’s 5 Principles of Non-Violence, but that’s a different discussion.) When a genuine connection through understanding and openness is made, invariably the black and white world of I vs. The Other dissolves and becomes a beautiful, mysterious, breathing world of I and Thou. The fire is in between.

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Madrid Wood-Fire: Days 2-4

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Today, we finished glazing wares and started loading our beloved anagama kiln. I’ve decided to try out WordPress’s new slide show feature for images of the past few days. (Unfortunately, the picture titles don’t come up when you mouse over them, so hopefully you can decipher what’s what from my brief description.) Included are pictures of glazing and decorating at the kiln site; stacking pots in the front and back of the kiln; exterior shots of the kiln; cone packs (cones are the colored ceramic triangle thingys used to gauge different temperatures, here ranging from 1800-2400 deg); and pictures of the various wares that will be loaded. There are also a couple pictures of wadding being made. Wadding is a dough-like mixture of alumina, oat bran and fire clay that’s used to prevent pots from sticking to the shelves during the firing. Several balls of wadding are placed either on the bottom or side of each piece before it’s loaded.

The wadded wares are carefully placed on the shelves which have been carefully stacked in the kiln to hopefully create an even flow of flame, temperature, and wood ash from front to back. Some of the wares, like those in the very front, are “tumble stacked,” or stacked on their sides, one on top of another, with no shelves. The kiln is about 4′ tall at the arch (decreasing in height as it climbs up the hill) and 15′ long. Loading it is like assembling a giant, 500 piece puzzle meticulously constructed one piece at a time; it takes about 16 hours to load the whole kiln, depending on how many pieces are in each firing (usually 400-600). We’re all careful with, and respectful of, each other’s work during loading so that nothing is broken in the process. Hope you enjoy the pictures!

And for those of you who would like to see the live-action version, check out Jesse’s new video!.

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What’s Raku?

I get asked that a lot, “What’s raku?” Most people outside of clay artists or collectors have never heard of Raku, or have a very vague understanding of what, exactly, it is.

Raku ware was first developed in Japan over 400 years ago and was favored by the Zen Buddhist Monks. It was preferred by the Masters because of its
humility, tasteful unpretentiousness, simple naturalness, and its deliberate avoidance of luxury; all very important to the Zen philosophy. It is believed that Raku was first developed by Chojiro, founder of the first generation of the Raku dynasty, in the 16th century. It is believed that Chojiro’s tea bowls were brought to the attention of the Emperor Hideyoshi, who was very impressed with the unpretentious and aesthetically pleasing wares. As a result, the Emperor bestowed, in memory of Chojiro, a gold seal that bore the emblem symbolizing “Raku” on Chojiro’s son, Jokei.

The word “Raku” comes from the ideograph engraved on that gold seal. “Raku” when freely and loosely translated can mean joy, enjoyment, pleasure, comfort, happiness, or contentment. The word “Raku” thereby became Chojiro’s family name/title.

The raku firing method utilizes a rapid rise in temperature in a fuel-fired kiln, combining the elements of earth, air, fire, and sometimes water for stunning, one-of-a-kind results. I was drawn to raku immediately because of the unpredictability of working with fire and the uniqueness of each piece. Because I grew tired of the raku glazes I had access to, I began experimenting with colors, which soon became paintings. The result — the merging of the raku firing technique with painted surfaces — is my own distinct art form rooted in ancient tradition but with contemporary appeal. Here is a photo tour of my process:

I start by throwing each piece on a potter's wheel. When it is leather-hard, I trim a foot into the bottom and let it dry for a few days.

I draw the design, usually a landscape or botanical image, on the dry piece with pencil. Sometimes I use photo references, especially for commissions, but typically I work from memory.

Then I start painting with underglaze (liquid, tinted clay). The finished painting looks much darker than it does at this stage, so I estimate what the colors will look like as I go.

The painting is finished.

The painted vase is then bisque fired to about 1900 degrees in an electric kiln. As you can see, the colors are darker already.

The bisqued piece is glazed with a clear crackle glaze and fired in this raku kiln located at my good friend Ben's studio.

Here is the kiln in mid-fire with Ben. He's my model for this.

The temperature is gauged by sight and by 07 cones. This cone is melting which means the kiln has reached temperature (about 1835 degrees) and the firing is complete.

When the glaze is mature, after it's bubbled and laid down again, the glowing pot is taken out of the kiln with tongs and placed in a trash can with saw dust. (Notice how Ben's glowing to... that kiln is hot!)

The flaming trash can is covered to create a reduction (oxygen-deprived) environment. The smoke and fire cause the unglazed parts of the vase to turn matte black. The pot is left in the can to cool for at least 25 minutes.

The cooled, fired piece inside the can.

This is what the fired piece looks before it's cleaned. The carbon on the surface is washed off with soap and water or a scrubbing device if it's really dark.

And here is the cleaned, finished piece! Thanks for touring.

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