My kiln is out. It is unpacked and it started well, everything looked good from outside, but as I started to unpack the setting, one by one, the large jars came out with cracks, most very minor, others quite large and one jar completely collapsed. Interestingly, in the same spot in the kiln as the one that collapsed in the last firing. Only 2 of the large jars have survived completely intact.

Not what I was expecting, but what I was prepared for. There is definitely a show of work here, but it is a different show from the one I might have imagined. Some of the cracks are spectacular. When I saw this one, I said, “look, a crescent moon crack”, and Mr Jung the Director of the Museum, exclaimed that it was 2 moons! A moon jar with a full moon on the surface!

If I disregard the cracks, there are some really lovely pots here. Most of the smaller jars have survived intact, and with some astonishing ash developments on their surfaces. The most interesting thing to me is the purple/mauve/pink colour of the ash glaze development in this firing. This is redolent of the surfaces on some of the work of the Japanese National Treasure potter ‘Mitchio Furutani’. I’m very pleased with this association, as I’m a big fan of his work. I would have liked to have bought one of Furatani’s lesser pieces when I was studying in Japan, back in the early eighties, but he was too famous, and his prices, even back then, were somewhere between ‘effing’ and ‘eye-wateringly’ expensive. I did buy a small sake cup from his son, which was just plain ‘expensive’! Furutani, among many things, specialised in pink flashed ash glaze on his ‘Iga’ style pots. Even the inside of his anagama kiln was coated in a pink/mauve ash deposit. Very beautiful!

As I examine each of my pieces, I’m much happier with the overall result. In fact, it’s not too bad for a second firing of a new kiln with an unknown clay with a different wood. I always tell my students that it takes at least 6 firings for me to get to know a kiln well enough to get good results. Each kiln has a personality, and you have to get to know its strengths. That would mean a year spent here to do that. Out of the question! So I have to be satisfied with what I have here. And I am!
I also make a ‘note-to-self’ that it is a well known fact that trying to make large round jars in a small single chamber kiln is notoriously difficult. I have just proved the rule! Big jars are usually fired at the middle and back of anagamas, not in the front row. Or, they are fired in subsequent chambers of climbing kilns. Also, big-ware has a much better survival rate if made from grogged, or rough, open textured clay. No body in their right mind would attempt to make big round jars from fine smooth porcelain clay and fire them in the front of a small, single chambered wood fired kiln. Yes! Muggins! That’s the madness part!

So I have broken all the rules. but managed to pull off some lovely, even very lovely surfaces on my jars. I took this picture above, outside Furutani’s studio, showing that even pots by the master, from the back of the anagama, and made from rough shigaraki clay, get cracked and broken. It’s par for the course.
These pieces below are quite lovely to my sense of aesthetics. I’d be happy to show these works anywhere. I’m particularly fond of the mauve/pink ash.





Of the largest jars these are very nice. The last one being tragically beautiful, and would have a place on my workshop verandah, if I were at home!


So there is poetry here. Nothing has met the hammer – yet!
But it is not haiku, nor luckily, neither is it doggerel or iambic pentameter! My work has no meter, it doesn’t rhyme, or have an even flow of stanzas. I’m thinking somewhere along the rambling lines of Kerouac, or possibly the eco-sensitive thoughts from Snyder? Today It’s the madness I live with, the hill I climb. The pot I make. The kiln I fire. The result I accept. My kiln firing – the dharma burns. Elusive results, like looking for Rexroth’s daughter? “My life is like a plump ripe melon, so sweet, but such a mess!”
This newly minted show will now be about The Journey, The Hill, The Residency, The Experience. The highs and lows. The isolation and the camaraderie. The bad clay, the wet wood, the long nights, but most of all about the joy of almost accidentally creating something unexpectedly beautiful in a new way. Achieved by sticking my neck out and being prepared to take the fall. Although I’m very aware that 50 years of study doesn’t result in any accidents!
I take full responsibility for all my failures, and am fully willing to share the credit for any successes with my collaborators, who helped me get to here. That’s the essence of a shared residency. I’ve worked hard here and put in the effort. It’s a situation in this residency that is best suited to young emerging artists who don’t have a personal studio yet. They need to work somewhere like here. I don’t. My role has really been one of mentor to aspiring young wood firers, while exploring my own interest in Moon Jars. My jars are very different from the traditional ones that I visited in the Museums in Seoul on my first day here in Korea. Different but still very interesting and beautiful, or, at least I hope so. This is the poetry part!
Purple poetry and mauve Moon Jars. Yes, there is alliteration in my poetry.
I don’t really belong here. I’m the out-layer. It was all laid out in the application form, “applicants should be under 40”. Being under 40 was such a long time ago for me. I can hardly remember being in my 30’s. However, even in my 30’s, I was already settled with a house, studio and kiln of my own. I was secure-ish, and on my way to being established. life was a lot different back then, we were still naive and filled with optimism. What Janine and I did wasn’t at all easy, but it was achievable. We made it difficult for ourselves, because of the choices that we made, to do everything by ourselves, sustainably and without borrowing any more money from corrupt banks. Refusing to take full-time jobs, to be part of The System! It isn’t like that here. No one thinks like that any more, if they ever did?
This whole exercise has been a great big experiment, tinged with failure, yes, sure. It was a difficult ask, But luckily elevated somewhat by my weird optimism. Where does it come from? The desire to make the difficult creative choices at every turn? Get knocked down and then get back up and do it again? It’s the hill I climb.
This art work will have to remain ‘unfinished’, as my time is almost up. Nothing is ever finished! Nothing is perfect and Nothing lasts!
I have metaphorically nailed my thesis to the pottery door and left my mark. I will return in October for the exhibition, and see what has transpired in my absence. In the mean time, there are a lot of pots to clean and grind. More wadding to make and the last of my jars to glaze and pack in the kiln.
I have just one more firing on Tuesday, then I leave. I have mentored one particular resident artist here, who I feel sure will go on to be a wood firer. I can feel it. I sense her quiet enthusiasm and determination. She has stayed up through all the long hours and nights of each of the wood kiln firings. Carted and stacked the wood, volunteered to crawl inside the still-hot kiln to clean out the firebox ash. She is always taking notes and asking very thoughtful questions that show her thorough mental process. Impressive! She just might be the most successful, but intangible, result of my stay here?
Enthusiastic engagement, how can you show that?













































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