Climbing the Mountain

The other day, I asked a young man in our community if he could try to translate a word I know from Japanese into English.  He said he'd try.  The word is "Noborigama," and I'm sure I butchered the pronunciation.  I salute the guy.  He asked for some context, and I told him it was a type of pottery kiln, which just confused him some more.  After sounding it out a few times, he came up with "to climb the mountain," and was sure he was wrong.

But it made sense to me, and I told him right away why.  This is a noborigama kiln, the one I helped fire last week:

This is a wood fired kiln with three chambers.  The first chamber is almost in the center of this photo: the leftmost dome.  The second chamber is to the right of it: a higher dome.  The third chamber is between the second chamber and the chimney, which is the rightmost brick structure.  It's hard to see it because the woman in the blue jacket is standing in front of it.  The floor of the first chamber is the lowest, then the floor of the second chamber is a little higher, and the floor of the small third chamber is even higher.

To start the fire in the kiln, a campfire is built to the left of the first chamber on the ground.  There are actually holes near the ground there.  Then wood is put in through a port on the front of the first chamber next to the door (the doors are bricked closed during firing).  That first chamber heats up over about 18 hours to cone 10, about 2400F.  When the first chamber is hot enough, the people firing the kiln stop adding wood to the first chamber and start adding it to the higher second chamber through a similar port.  When that chamber reaches cone 10, they stop adding wood and allow the fire to climb to the third chamber and burn itself out.  The whole things takes about 24 hours.

The flow of air and fire in the kiln starts at ground level all the way to the left and moves through each chamber, higher and higher to the chimney on the right.  It literally climbs a hill upward as the kiln fires.

When I told the young man how the kiln works and that the name physically describes what happens to the fire, he said that was very Japanese.  And very cool.

The Sexy Part

The blog is new, so of course it needs at least one early post with a provocative title, right?

The three days between the wood firing and unloading the kiln was delicious anticipation.  My stomach was frequently full of butterflies when I'd think about what I might find when we took the pots out of the kiln.

You actually open a kiln like this one by removing, one by one, a wall of bricks.  Then someone physically enters the kiln and hands out the pots one or two at a time.  Each one emerges like a Christmas gift or something out of a newly discovered buried treasure.

One of the things that attracted me to wood firing is the unpredictability of the results.  Unlike some other more modern methods of firing pottery, the look and feel of the pots coming from a wood fire is completely dependent on the materials used, and the materials are natural ones.  They aren't perfect or consistent; and they do their own magic.  The wood ash settles and melts on the surface of the glaze or unglazed clay and interact to alter the chemical makeup of the glaze.  Or even create a glaze where there was none.  Every pot comes out different depending where in the kiln it was and how the flame, air, and ash were moving through the space.

Take for example, this cup and saucer:

It is glazed with an oribe.  In a regular gas reduction firing, it would be a translucent green.  Some areas are actually green, but there are flashes of purple and black with some incredible turquoise. 

And if you look at the two shot glasses in this set:

The cups were separated when the kiln was loaded and were placed far apart.  One is very warm orange and gold with almost no ash.  The one on the right got blasted with ash, and has gray and metallic accents.  Amazing.

I find atmospheric firings like wood and soda to be magical, and down right sexy.

An End to Deprivation

A few hours ago, I returned home from taking part in my first wood firing at Baltimore Clayworks.  I took the late night shift, and have been unable to sleep much yet.  The fact is that returning to pottery after over a decade away from the wheel has me incredibly excited, and the opportunity last night to bust my butt doing something I love has me a little high.  And far too awake.

Had I lived in another time and place, I think pottery would have been my life's work.  At least I like to think so.  I discovered it in my early 20's, and took classes and worked at night at Lill Street in Chicago (back when it was actually on Lill Street) for a few years.  It was my passion and my love.  I dreamed of clay and passed time at my day job daydreaming of it, and even considered returning to college to study ceramics.  Then I had to quit.

That was 2003.  It was an injury not related to working clay, but it took a couple of years to sort out.  By that time, I had a mortgage and was going to night school in another field.  No time for pottery.  But I still dreamed of the clay.

These 10 years later, I'm married with two small children and live in Maryland.  As a (mostly) stay at home mom, I need some time on a regular basis to clear out my brain and do something with other adults.  So, my husband and I decided I'd start taking a pottery class at Glen Echo Pottery here in the DC area.  I'm back, an end to 10 years deprivation.

When I get a bit more of this excitement out of my system, I'll try to rest.  And to dream of clay.