A Story Too Good to keep Quiet: Part 1

I am not a blogger. I’m not even a competent writer. Other than facebook emoji responses, adding hashtags to Instagram posts, and scribbling my name, I only use the english alphabet to function passably as a human being. I will make an exception here because there was a humorous string of events that took place before and during the traditional firing of my latest piece, Spiral.

A little backstory here: I’ve been on the geometric pottery adventure for a couple of years now, with each iteration becoming bolder and more refined. It started out with one piece I called Qubit that was based on quantum mechanics. Now, as you can see, this website is absolutely dominated with these forms. When I started to lay out the process for shaping these pieces it was a given to fire them first in a kiln. A kiln has advantages too numerous to list here and is the safest of safety nets for whippersnappers like me.

As I became more comfortable creating geometric shapes the inevitable questions loomed over me like a raincloud: Can I do these pieces with traditional materials and processes? Can I paint on these forms with some of these polygons at such unusual angles? Without touching the pottery with your hand because of the sensitivity of the Cochiti slip? Will such shapes survive the gauntlet that is outside firing? I had been sort of dodging these questions for a bit by being cautious with dry runs with a kiln. I started out by using my gathered clay and pigments (Cochiti clay, temper, and spinach plant), creating and painting, and then firing the finished piece in the kiln. I always appreciated how Cochiti clay seems to bond together better than any commercial clay I’ve used, which makes it very easy to work with. Plus, it does not need to be covered at all when drying. This clay will not crack. After several successful kiln firings with my natural ingredients I felt confident enough to go full tilt and complete the process outside.

One of the things you quickly learn when you go the traditional route all the way is to be humble. I remember when I was learning this craft with creating small bowls, figuring the right mixture for clay and temper, what kind of wood works best, which way the wind is blowing; I had a solid 90 percent failure rate for awhile. I stopped taking it personally after, about, the tenth corn meal bowl didn’t survive firing. Even the humidity plays a role in all this. Although my success rate is much better these days, I still had that small grain of hesitation. I had 2 geometric pieces that I was convinced were the most scintillating pieces that I would have ready for Indian Market this past summer. But, alas, grandmother took them and they didn’t make it out of the firing. It is said that when you lose a piece during firing it’s because grandmother liked it and wanted it for herself. The rational, scientific method side of me of course had it all figured out: it was a wet summer, I didn’t use enough of the right wood. I used some cottonwood, which will pop and send fragments flying. In fact, I did hear the wood pop followed by the sound of glass richocheting off of something. The fire wasn’t hot enough. The rez dogs were barking too loud. Or, it was grandmother who made all these things happen.

However, I felt an air of focus going in to this last stretch. I had created this one in the late summer, so it had plenty of time to completely become bone dry and I conceptualized the designs on my ipad and felt it would be a matter of painting, gathering the cow manure and wood, then firing. I was rounding the bases and the base coach was waving me to bring it home. To be continued…