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My 2nd New Korea

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I’m working in Korea in this little artists village community on the edge of a country town. There have been potters here making and mining porcelain stone for 800 years. The village is located away from the township, such that the smoke from the traditional wood fired kilns is not a concern for the township residents. It was great forethought in its time to start to locate all the wood kilns up into this side valley.

But it doesn’t stop there, this has been a long-term plan and as with all long-term plans, it is evolving and adapting with current thinking and social mores. Hence my involvement here with the constriction of my low-emissions wood kiln firing designs and techniques. I was commissioned to start this work here, back in 2019, I was all set to come, but before I could start, we had the fire, then covid intervened. So I was unavailable for some years. But I’m back here again now the the plan is back on track.

My demonstration firing was very successful. In previous firings here the only fuel available to fire the kilns with was very dry 5 year aged local pine. The standard fuel here that everybody uses. It is a statement of fact here that dry pine is the only fuel that works in a kiln! 

Last year when I was travelling around, I visited a famous potter’s studio, where they fired with wood. He had built a special pine fuel drying kiln, to desiccate his very thinly split fuel. He told me that it was his special secret, and that only desiccated pine could raise the temperature of the kiln easily. Other potters struggle with ordinary wood, but he had discovered the answer. I decided not to mention that I sometime throw water over the dry pine to get a better result! He had no concerns about making smoke. That was taken as a norm. All kilns make smoke, don’t they!

In the kilns that I have built here, the 5 year seasoned pine burnt furiously and it was very difficult for me to minimise the smoke. I managed it, but wasn’t at all happy with such dry volatile fuel. I enquired about alternatives. There is hard wood available in the form of oak and acacia. But no one uses it for kiln firing as it doesn’t work!!! That was the local opinion anyway! Meaning that it doesn’t work in the traditional kiln designs, used here, using traditional techniques. I thought that it might just be ideal for my purposes, for use in the down draught firebox.

For this most recent firing I had requested that both pine and oak be available, to give me options. There is also the possibility of using local acacia wood, But I was told that this is not considered be be a useful fuel for kilns. That made me more interested in trying it out. I said that it is one of the better fuels back in Australia, but that hasn’t cut any ice here as yet – apparently.

When I arrived, the oak and pine were stacked neatly in front of the kiln. A lovely sight. I started by using just 100% oak. Initially, I found that the oak burnt black and then smouldered. Just as everyone else had found. But I was perfectly sanguine about this, because my local stringy bark timber back in Australia does the same. In fact the locals wouldn’t cut it for use in their open fire places because of this. I quickly found that a blend of 80% oak with 20% pine was a good combination to get started with, using the flashy pine to keep the oak burning. This combo worked well from 700 up to about 1000 oC, when I cut the use of the pine back to just 10%, and finally at 1100oC, I was using straight oak.

This series of combinations got the kiln firing well, while still burning quite cleanly with almost non-existent traces of smoke from the chimney. Just the occasional waft of pale grey smoke.

Problem solved. I was able to fire up to cone 9 in reduction with virtually NO smoke, while firing in reduction. This is a notable achievement here. A lot of chatter and comment, firing in a wood fired kiln with no smoke, by using the oft’ maligned local oak. Applause all round. Who’d have thought?

Maybe the local acacia might even have been better? But that is a project for another visit.

There are two ceramic university campuses that are keen to follow up on this, as they are located in cities, and there is no possibility of being able to make smoke in their location. Downdraught oak firing might just do the trick.

Word gets about it seems. During the cooling period I got news that the opening of the kiln would have to be delayed from one day to the next, then from the morning of the appointed day, to the afternoon, as the Federal Minister of Culture wanted to be there to see the results unpacked, and he could only be available in the afternoon of the 8th. So when in Rome… I delayed the opening at his masters pleasure.

I’m certain that this is no accident. Of course, I don’t know, but it smacks of ‘realpolitik’ strategising. I’d bet that the Director of the Museum has organised this as a media event to promote the Museum. Politicians fund the things that they see, are involved in, understand, AND if it looks like a successful vehicle to advantage their own career. They want to be seen associated with it. 

Just a thought! Call me cynical! But…

I remember some years ago. I collected some porcelain stone from here and took them back to Australia and made a large bowl out of them. I glazed the bowl with a subtle blue celadon glaze that I made incorporating kangaroo ash. A kangaroo had died on my property, so I calcined it and retrieved the local source of phosphorous from the bones. Phosphorous is known to enhance the optical blue in certain pale iron glazes like celadon.

I gave it as a gift to the Museum Director along with the story. This was my own private Cultural Exchange project. His Korean stones collected from this historic site, made into a pure sericite clay body glazed with my Australian kangaroo blue glaze. He loved it. He was so taken by it that he called the Premier and made an appointment for us to meet him and make the bowl a gift to him. Thus bringing the Museum into his field of vision.

We turned up just before the appointed time for our 15 mins of fame, and were eventually ushered into the Official Office along with newspaper reporters, translators, aids and other staff. I was duly introduced to the Premier, a little bit of small talk. He had been very well briefed and made appropriate comments. Then it was down to brass tacks. I handed over the bowl and he graciously accepted it on behalf of the Korean People. He said straight away that he knew next to nothing of Ceramics, but understood the significance of the effort that had gone into such an art work and its cultural exchange significance. He thanked me again and shook my hand. There was a flurry of flash bulbs going off to record this staged event.

He asked me how I came to be researching Korean Porcelain from this remote place. I replied that Korean porcelain is unique in the history of world ceramics. I came here because of the history of the place and the pots that were made here. You can only learn so much from books. I had to come to experience it. He smiled, so you knew about Korean porcelain from back in Australia? I said yes, once I learnt about it, I had to come. The Porcelain Museum here is one of the very few places in the world where this kind of study can take place. Mr Jung, The Director, is very supportive, open and inclusive. He runs a great institution. 

The Premier was reflective for a second, then said. I believe that you can build pottery kilns that fire with wood and make no smoke. This is important for the environment. Mr Jung has asked me for more funding for this kind of project. If the Museum is so famous internationally, attracting research like yours,

I will fund it! 

The next day, the newspapers had the Premier on the front page announcing the success of his funding initiative for his international artistic ceramic exchange program, for the very successful, now internationally recognised, Yanggu Porcelain Museum. Every one wins. The Premier gets all the credit and is in the paper looking like a hero. The Museum Director got his funding. I enjoyed the research and achievement of making the lovely bowl. The premier mentioned before we all left, that the best place to keep such a unique bowl, would be in the porcelain museum.

Back to the present time and hence the sudden flush of offers of work to build similar such kilns from established potters and university campuses. Once it is shown to work, it gets it’s own legs. Word travels fast. These days it travels electronically with likes and re-postings. It’s very fast.

The Minister of Culture is coming for a visit to the Museum and will be at the opening of the kiln. The kiln has cooled more than enough waiting for him to arrive. I’m introduced to the minister, he asks me in Korean – if I can speak Korean. I recognise the phrase, so I’m onto it, but my recall of Korean standard reply phrases is so slow, that before I can make my clumsy reply, he already knows my answer, so swiftly continues in English. “So we will have to speak in English then!”. I nod my thanks.

We make some small talk. He’s been briefed on hisc way here about the nature of the project and asks me if it is going well and I reply yes. That’s the depth of our interaction. That was my 15 seconds of fame! The photographers elbow in and I’m shifted sideways. The minister looks quizzically at the kiln and my Jung explains something in Korean. The Museum team are then given the go-ahead to unpack the kiln.

The firing is unpacked and everyone ‘oohs’ and ‘arrhs’, the other potters here each look in and turn to me with BIG smiles and thumbs-up. Huge sigh of relief. Everyone is all smiles. The pots are mostly well fired, but I’m interested in the minutiae of the detail. I’m looking not just for colour, but for the depth of colour in the celadons. Not just a shiny surface, but a certain quality of soft melt and satiny quality there. I want to get in and see the flame path and the flashing on the exposed surfaces and kiln shelves. Where is the ash deposit and how has it melted. None of this is possible with 50 people crowding around and flash guns going off. 

Its a bit like a crime scene or perhaps an archaeological dig. You don’t want a rabble of untrained people trampling all the evidence and the details. Just like an aboriginal tracker, I want to read the ephemera, the subtle traces and shadows, but that isn’t going to happen. The pots are whipped out and shown to the Minister, with total disregard of their place in the kiln and their fire face and lee side qualities. 

It’s just a little bit of a shame, as I’d like to learn more than I am able to in this situation. Looks like I’m the only one who isn’t ecstatic! I am really pleased that everyone else is so happy with the result, but I know that I can do better. But I need to read the surfaces to be able to learn what I need to be better at it the next time round.

In a perfect world, I’d like to go slowly and examine each pot in detail. These pots aren’t just trophies and trinkets, they are also part of my research, or at least they were when they went in! But this has become a media event now, and that is also very important, possibly more important, because it may well result in continued or even better funding into the future. A topic far more important than one firing and a few glazed pots.

The firing is a success, no doubts. Everyone is happy. They all leave feeling uplifted and maybe just a little bit happy and warm inside to know that they have been somewhere where there is some sort of mysterious, but positive, environmental action taking place. Even though they don’t understand what it is.

Back at the Museum tomorrow, I’ll have to have a quiet look at all the work as we are setting up the show. But the exact context will be lost, however, I can fill in some of the missing info using my experience. I’m so pleased that everyone is happy, but I could have learnt more to help them with the next firing, as the kiln still needs some fine tuning.

What I could see quite clearly, was that the oak ash was very refractory. I’m guessing that it is very high in SiO2. We may need to burn a bit more pine in the mix to introduce some CaO (calcium flux) into the eutectic to get a softer surface from the ash deposit. I was burning 20% pine in the early stages without smoke. I might have to keep that up for the whole firing? As pine ash has a lot of calcium in it.

All grist for the mill in the future. I could also see that the floor at the back was still a little bit under-fired, so I was up at 5,30 this morning and went down to the kiln and took out the bag wall and rebuilt it one layer lower and with one full brick removed, to make larger gaps. I will see how this works after the next firing. I also placed one brick in the middle flue hole to force the flame out to the corners more. All little fine adjustments that I hope will make it fire more evenly.

Another option for the refractory silicious ash problem might be to place a few tiny pre-fired stoneware cups containing a spoon full of Na2CO3 (washing soda) in the front of the kiln. This will mimic a few years of charcoal built-up and decomposition at high temperatures, where sodium vapours are released from the burning embers. The soda will sublimate and slowly volatilise throughout the firing, reacting with the silicious ash as it is being laid down and help it to melt. or I hope so anyway. Everything is an experiment!

I could also use common salt to get a similar effect, but sodium chloride creates a slightly different look. I don’t want to change the look of the ceramic surface from wood fired into salt glaze pots. But anything and everything is worth a try. At least once. I first came across this light salting technique being used in La Bourne in France, back in 1974, where they had been doing it for centuries. As a naive student, I thought that it was a very clever idea that I hadn’t come across before. Many potters have used it since. In fact, it has become part of the standard repertoire. 

With the influence of the Minister of Culture on the front pages and the release of the TV doco soon, there will almost certainly be more enquiries about this firing method. It is my intension to try and leave the kilns here in good condition and with useful, technically accurate kiln firing logs that the students here can use to do their own firings in the future. Hopefully we can work together ‘virtually’ via ‘Kakao’ talk or Zoom to achieve the best result possible. It could be a whole lot easier if they would just read the book, or at least the first chapter on how to fire!

All that is required now is for some young enterprising Korean potter to pick it up and run with it, develop a small business building these kilns for whoever wants one.

Maybe firing a downdraught fire box kiln with local oak will become a thing? I have shown that it is possible. It is now one other possible strategy for potters and academics in the field, to follow to be able to keep on wood firing here into a cleaner, carbon constrained, and environmentally friendlier future. 

All I need to do now is to introduce them to the concept of the after-burner/scrubber to minimise PM 2.5 particulates, not just smoke. But that is a bridge too far at this time and for this visit.

Numbers are beautiful – apparently!

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Apparently numbers are beautiful, and can be fun!We had a visit from one of my very earliest students, who I hadn’t seen since graduation almost 50 years ago.

She had trained in maths at uni, but ended up teaching maths at school. This didn’t seem to be sufficiently rewarding to her, so she came into the Art School to train as a potter, teaching maths part-time to support herself during this 2nd lifestyle choice of vocation as a mature age student.

We had an interesting catch-up and she explained to me that numbers have a personality and are beautiful. She told me that she could look at a number and know a lot about it from its ‘character’, or something akin to its ‘personality’?

Numbers are like people, you can learn a lot about them just by the way that they look. 

I’m not a maths person myself. However during our conversation, I started to understand a little bit more about the look of numbers and learnt that I do have some little bit of insight into numbers. When I was at school, we had to learn maths by rote. I never felt the desire to enquire further. So unlike my experience of learning about ceramics, which I couldn’t stop thinking about, pondering, romancing etc. in my spare moments.

These days, I usually only use numbers to defend myself. ie. to add up the bill and check it for accuracy. But I sometimes use my limited maths to understand the chemistry of clays and glazes, ie. Brongniarts formula, Segar formula, and electric kiln wiring calculus to build heating element systems. They are not ‘fun’  jobs, this is strictly work. So some of that rote learning does get regurgitated and applied to real-life practical questions. I’m pleased that I am able to put my mind to it successfully. So numbers are useful, but I don’t romance them.

However, I was amazed to find that although I know next to nothing about maths and have little interest in it, I do know something about the look of numbers. When I say, the look of numbers, what I’m referring to is the insight that you gain through familiarity, like the look of words. I may not know how to spell some words, but when I write them down, I can tell that they look either wrong or right. So I recognise that I do know more than I realise.

Here are some of the numbers that first came to mind, and that I realised that I knew the look of pretty well;

0, (zero) having read the book ’The nothing that is!’. I learnt that as a species we learnt to count to to describe and tally  the things that we owned. Goats, for example. If I only own one goat, then I pretty well always know where it is. but if I was and early human learning to convert from hunter gathering to residual farming and herding, then I would need to be able to know exactly how many goats I had, where they were, and if one was missing, so counting became a useful and necessary asset. 

It’s not a long stretch of the imagination to think about the farmer who owned no goats, didn’t need to count, so it took a very long time for the concept of ‘0’ zero to come into existence. No one really ever needed to specifically count the fact that they didn’t have anything. Who would believe that someone could write an interesting book about nothing!

Well, Robert Kaplan, that’s who! “The nothing that is- a natural History of Zero”.

3, my favourite number. Because there is something odd about it.

21, how old my truck is

61, the route that Bob Dylan metaphorically revisited.

66, the highway that black Americans used to escape, persecution, rape and lynchings, and sang about in the early blues.

666, the number of the beast! 

667, the neighbour of the beast!

2000, the cost of registering, green slipping, insuring, and putting 2 new tyres on my old truck to get it through rego inspection today. I own it outright, but this is the cost of renting it back from the institutions that allow me to drive it on the roads.

31428 Pi

13579 primes

12358 fibonacci

Just a few that come to mind quickly.

That was fun!

The Art of Uncertainty

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I’m reading a book at the moment, all about probability! It’s a really interesting read. I’m enjoying it and even though its a very thick book, about 2” or 50mm thick. I’m racing through it, but I’m not sure that I’ll finish it. A week ago I would have said with certainty that I would have finished it quickly, but having read most of it now, I’m rather reluctant to make such a bold claim. I’m uncertain. The first thing I learnt from reading this book was that probability probably doesn’t exist!

‘The Art of Uncertainty’ is written by Sir David Spieglehalter FRS OBE, Emeritus Professor of Statistics at Cambridge University. Someone to take seriously indeed. The sub-title of the book is ‘How to Navigate Chance, Ignorance Risk and Luck’. I was lucky enough to navigate across it by chance and took the risk to disabuse my self of some of my ignorance.

I’ve never been a person blessed with a sense of certainty, I’m probably more of the perplexed personality type – if there is such a one? So I have really enjoyed reading Prof Spieglehalter’s explanation of chance, ignorance risk and luck. There is so much to it. After explaining each topic, he gives an example from real life, then reduces every example to a mathematical model basis, which is also really fascinating. I’ve never been that interested in maths, but Prof Spieglehalter explains it so well, I could follow most of it. 

“Why probability probably doesn’t exist (but it is useful to act like it does)

Life is uncertain. None of us know what is going to happen. We know little of what has happened in the past, or is happening now outside our immediate experience. Uncertainty has been called the ‘conscious awareness of ignorance — be it of the weather tomorrow, the next Premier League champions, the climate in 2100 or the identity of our ancient ancestors.

In daily life, we generally express uncertainty in words, saying an event “could”, “might” or “is likely to” happen (or have happened). But uncertain words can be treacherous.

Attempts to put numbers on chance and uncertainty take us into the mathematical realm of probability, which today is used confidently in any number of fields. Open any science journal, for example, and you’ll find papers liberally sprinkled with P values, confidence intervals and possibly Bayesian posterior distributions, all of which are dependent on probability.

And yet, any numerical probability, I will argue — whether in a scientific paper, as part of weather forecasts, predicting the outcome of a sports competition or quantifying a health risk — is not an objective property of the world, but a construction based on personal or collective judgements and (often doubtful) assumptions. Furthermore, in most circumstances, it is not even estimating some underlying ‘true’ quantity. Probability, indeed, can only rarely be said to ‘exist’ at all.  All of statistics and much of science depends on probability — an astonishing achievement, considering no one’s really sure what it is.”

Life is uncertain. All models are wrong, but some are more useful than others!

As probability probably doesn’t exist. I’m probably not too sure what the last chapter will tell me. If I finish the book!

We probably really don’t know much at all. Get used to it.

Nothing is ever finished, nothing is perfect and nothing last forever.

Electric Car – 6 year review

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We have had our Hyundai ‘Ioniq’, plug-in electric hybrid car for 6 years now and it has all been a good experience, even better actually, A great experience!

This car has exceeded our expectations. We have settled into a routine with it now. We can drive anywhere locally on the battery, doing our local shopping and social visits very comfortably. If we need to go further afield, no problem, the petrol engine will bring us home. 

We always charge at home from our solar PV panels. We have never been to a charging station. We have taken it on longer trips up the Queensland twice and down to Canberra several times. For these trips, we rely on the petrol engine. However, these trips are seldom done and are the exception.

For those interested in facts and figures. My log book tells me that by January 2025, we had traveled 64,000kms and spent a total of $1,860 on fuel. That’s about 34 kms to the dollar, or if petrol is $1.80 per litre, then we are getting about 61 kms to the litre. NOT 6 but 61! Most of that fuel was purchased on those long trips.

We are in the habit of putting $20 to $30 dollars worth of fuel in the car about 4 times a year. When we first purchased it. I filled the tank on the way home, as per normal practice with a new car. Big mistake! It took us almost a year to use up that fuel. It was sitting there going stale in the tank for most of the time. Stale fuel can be a big problem, so we have not done that since, unless we are planning a long trip.

When fully fueled up with a full battery and a full tank. The fuel/trip computer tells me that we can go 1,150 kms!

The Ioniq, is a medium sized car, but is the biggest car that we have ever owned. It’s vast and comfortable compared to the little 3 cylinder Japanese 900 CC Daihatsu, Charade and Sirion, cars that we have had previously. These were very fuel efficient, very tiny, very nippy and could find a tiny parking space anywhere. I like the driving feel of the small cars, but I love driving the Hyundai. It’s so smooth, quiet and comfortable.

We have had no issues with it. Although, maybe just one, when rats are some part of the electrical wiring system. It cost us $600 to find the fault and get it repaired. Not too bad in the scheme of things, as the mechanic told us that several cars that he had looked at and quoted on recently were written off because of the cost of repair from rats eating the wiring loom. We were lucky!

Since then, I have begun opening the bonnet as soon as we get home, and fitting a bright LED light in the engine compartment, fitted with a 24 hour timer, so that is switches on at dusk and off at dawn, all automatically. That makes the engine compartment an unpleasant place to be for a rat. It also allows engine heat to dissipate readily, making it even less hospitable.

I love my plug-in electric car, so much so, that in December I bought a new fully electric Fiat 500e ‘bambino’. That classic little Italian car from the movies. First produced post-war, in the 50’s, and has been in production right through until today. In various models. This brand new electric version is incredibly cute. It can go 300kms on a full charge, which is enough to drive to Sydney and back. 

I installed a new 3 phase, 40 amp, charger for it, It just plugs into the already existing 3 phase power socket on the wall in the carport. So I can charge it at home on sunshine. It takes from 3 to 4 hours from empty to fully charge. We can do this overnight from our home ‘powerwall’ batteries, using yesterdays sunshine, or during the day directly from the sun. However, I usually top it up any time there is plenty of sun that we are not getting very much money for when we sell to the grid.

The Fiat only seats 2 realistically, although it has a back seat and 4 seat belts, the back seat is only for child sized passengers. I’ve put the back seats down to double the boot space. So now it’s a two door, two seater hatch. 

Its incredibly powerful. The torque is amazing, and can pin you back in your seat. But this is normal for all electric cars. They have loads of torque!  It’s the classic small, nippy car that I have always loved to drive, but now I drive on sunshine!

So now, after a couple of months of ownership, I can say that it is fantastic, and does everything that we need to do. However, if I had to do a thousand kilometre drive to Melbourne or Queensland for some reason, I’d take the Hyundai for the long haul comfort and leg room.

We are very pleased to be a fully solar powered household. We can run the House, Pottery, Kilns and 2 cars on our solar. I even got a $350 cheque from the electricity company last week, for all our unused excess. This will reduce in Winter, but so far, we have never paid an electricity bill since 2006/7, when we installed the first solar PV panels.

Even when the fire burnt down our pottery in 2019. With our first PV installation gone, we were without solar for 3 quarters of billing periods. However, we had such a good unclaimed credit on our bill at the time, that we were able to go that whole time just using up our credit. We had new solar panels installed before the end of the year, and we were back on deck before the credit ran out. 

Just lucky I guess.

Willoughby Bequest Commission

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Back in 2019, just before the fire destroyed my life. I was commissioned by the PowerHouse Museum in Sydney to create new ceramic work for their collection.

A patron named Mr Willoughby, left his estate to the PowerHouse Museum with instructions that It be used to commission new ceramic and glass works of art for their collection. I was lucky enough to be one of the 6 artists selected to make those works.

I received the commission just before the fire. so I rang the Museum and a offered to return the commission, as I knew that it would take my a long time to re-build my workshop and life, before I could even consider making special new work.

I was a mess after the trauma of fighting the fire, loosing the battle, and running for my life, with my hair on fire, to climb into my kiln and hide in there while the inferno passed over me. That kiln saved my life, but left me shattered. I had no time to de-breif, I started the clean-up operation straight away the next day, and it has never stopped to this day. We are still finishing off the new buildings to make them long term sustainable.

I suffered a lot of Post Traumatic Shock (PTSD) that lasted 4 years, until I could get the correct psychiatric help – EMDR – trauma therapy. I decided to make some new pieces for the Museum collection, that responded to my situation, some 3 years late!

This is downloaded from my artists statement on the Museum’s web site;

Full Artist Statement ‘Self Portrait’ by Steve Harrison

‘I’ve finally completed the commission for the Powerhouse Collection. I was chosen as 1 of the 6 artists to make new work for the collection, as part of the ‘Willoughby Commission’, way back in 2019, just a few weeks before my workshop and studio were destroyed in the 2019 catastrophic bush fires. It has taken me over 3 years to get back on my feet with a functioning creative workspace. I have spent the last 12 months since then assembling this new work. My original thought was to make beautiful porcelain bowls that encapsulated my love of a quiet, gentle and sustainable approach to life and making. But all that was dashed in the fires, when all my lifetime collection of ceramic materials, kilns and buildings were destroyed in just one day. I stayed to defend and save my house but suffered considerable trauma in the process. I have created this new work for the collection to reflect the chaos and destruction that I endured. I decided to work with the many hundreds of shattered pieces of broken pottery that littered the site after the fire. A few pieces were broken but had the potential to be repaired using the ancient Japanese technique of kintsugi – gold repair. These few small bowls, although damaged, had the potential to be recovered with patient attention to detail. Kintsugi expresses a desire to ‘honour’ a damaged, but still lovely object by giving it time to be rebuilt, and eventually to possibly become even more beautiful than before, because of the time and effort spent on it. I spent some months, part-time, cleaning, repairing and re-constructing missing parts of these bowls to make them ‘complete’ again. They are whole again, although different from before. Damaged and altered, changed from what they were, but in some ways ‘enhanced’ and given a lot of love and care, they are somehow more beautiful, but in a completely different way. They became symbols of my journey to recovery. This work of slow repair and enhancement gave me to idea to create new pieces that didn’t previously exist but created from the mixed shards sieved from the ashes of the ruins. Completely new work, but made from a composite of all my old work. It’s been a very slow and tedious job of work, assembling a thousand small, burnt, broken and shattered shards all back together in a new combination to make ‘compendium’ pieces of my life’s work. Each shard needs to be held in place until the glue sets, so only a few shards can be added each day. I’m calling them ‘abstracts’, not because they have any relationship to modern painting, but because an ‘abstract’ is the first part of an academic thesis, which summarises the contents of the entire paper. In this case, these newly constructed vessels comprise many small shards of my work made at different times over my career, mostly sifted from the ashes of the old pottery after the fire, but also containing a few new post fire pieces as well. In this sense they are a summary of my life’s work, presented in a new form. An auto biography, or a ‘self-portrait’ in ceramics perhaps? They contain a small part of every phase of my career from my earliest days here, through to the present. Just as I have rebuilt my shattered and damaged self through a lot of trauma therapy since the fire, I am mostly better, but still carry a bit of lingering damage with me. I’m repaired and reconstructed, but different.

Screenshot

‘Self Portrait 1’ by Steve Harrison

OBJECT NO. 2024/78/1

Harrison has lived and worked in Balmoral Village near Mittagong, in the Southern Highlands, New South Wales, for almost 5 decades, pursuing a simple life of self-sufficiency and commitment to his local community. His interest in single-stone hard paste porcelain led to extensive travels and research of porcelain clays and processes in Japan, China, Korea and Britian, building bonds of fellowship with the international potter community. He has intensely explored the regional geology of Mittagong and Joadja Valley, focussing on sericite, and mica-based stones, to create his own clays, glazes and then bowls and jars fired with locally sourced wood or solar-powered electricity. While the forms of the simple vessels he has made over the years have changed, they have all been testaments to his life-long quest for the essence of porcelain clay and delight in the ‘subdued beauty’ of natural materials. Harrison’s vessels have seen many exhibitions at galleries such as the Kim Bonython, Legge and Watters galleries in Sydney and his works are in major Australian galleries and museums. Harrison has often augmented his works of clay with words crafted to express the relationships between the pieces, his life, the history of ceramic art, the state of the world and its fragile environment. ‘Self Portrait 1’ and ‘Self Portrait 2’ were commissioned just before the most severe bush fires of 2019 destroyed his pottery in December that year. A particularly ferocious fire almost claimed Harrison’s life, as it climbed over a thin skin of a makeshift kiln-like shelter assembled a day earlier, a last minute ‘plan B’. These works are entirely unique in Harrison’s creative output, in their concept, circumstances of production and the large scale of ‘Self Portrait 1’. Assembled from surviving fragments and shards of diverse vessels he made during his life as a potter, in Harrison’s own words, they are an ‘abstract’ or ‘compendium’ of his life’s work: ‘This work was commissioned just a few weeks before my workshop and studio were destroyed in the 2019 catastrophic bush fires. It has taken me over 3 years to get back on my feet with a functioning creative workspace. I have spent the last 12 months assembling this new work. My original thought was to make beautiful porcelain bowls that encapsulated my love of a quiet, gentle, and sustainable approach to life and making. But all that was dashed in the fires, when all my lifetime collection of ceramic materials, kilns and buildings were destroyed in just one day. I stayed to defend and saved my house but suffered considerable trauma in the process. I have created this new work to reflect the chaos and destruction that I endured. I worked with the many hundreds of shattered pieces of broken pottery that littered the site after the fire…to make ‘compendium’ pieces of my life’s work… an auto biography, or a ‘self-portrait’ in ceramics…Just as I have rebuilt my shattered and damaged self through a lot of trauma therapy since the fire, I am mostly better, but still carry a bit of lingering damage with me. I’m repaired and reconstructed, but different.’ [1] Born of a natural disaster that has changed Harrison’s life irrevocably, the three jars and five bowls in the two complementary installations are extraordinary assertions of the truth Harrison saw in Bernard Leach’s belief that pottery and its traditions are a part of our cross-cultural inheritance, an expression of the hidden potential in our clays and rocks, and an essential avenue to a unity of life and beauty. Within this context, ‘Self Portrait 1’ and ‘Self Portrait 2’ offer the story of Steve Harrison’s remarkable life positioned between a self-professed idyl of a ‘modern peasant’ and destruction, between beauty and ugliness; together they stand as a powerful poem written in clay about his, and our, place in the world, and ultimately, his hymn to survival.

[1] Email correspondence with curator, 2023

Eva Czernis-Ryl, Curator, 2024

Summer School Throwing Workshop Jan 6th to 8th – FULL

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The second workshop on the 11th to the 13th of January is also now FULL

I have started a new waiting list for a third workshop for sometime early in February, yet to be determined. I already have 3 names, but need 8 to run the course.

Janine, Len Smith and I will be offering a 3 day throwing workshop over the summer break. Jan 6th to 8th.

We will be teaching throwing techniques for beginners and intermediate level, aimed at making larger forms.

This is NOT a Masterclass for advanced throwers. This workshop is aimed at beginner to intermediate level.

You will need to be able to center clay on the wheel, from there on we will help you make some larger forms, demonstrating exercises to give you confidence to tackle slightly larger projects. Progressing from whatever your current level of skill is.

I will be demonstrating a series of techniques such as top hatting and coil and throw building techniques. 

We will also be demonstrating construction techniques, assembling your thrown sections together to build slightly more complex or larger pieces. We will help you work at your own pace to gain confidence and increase the complexity of your forms, or the height and scale of your pots, as you choose.

The workshop runs for three days from 10 till 4pm on Monday 6th of January to Wednesday 8th of January.

Clay is provided, you will need to bring your throwing tools and lots of batts, a dozen or more. If you own an electrical heat gun, you can bring it along with your tools.

Tea and coffee are provided, please bring something to share for lunch.

Numbers are Limited, as we only have 8 wheels in the studio. First in best dressed.

Cost $375 for three days. Enrollment is confirmed after payment is made.

Bookings <hotnsticky@ozemail.com.au>

ACA Open Studio Weekend

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This weekend is the Australian Ceramics Association, Open Studios.

We will be open from 10 to 4 each day. 

I have been continuing to work over the past few weeks. In particular, I have been doing some ‘kintsugi’ gold repair on a few of my pots with interesting cracks. 

Some 23 carat gold really lifts a slightly damaged pot.

I have also found time to make the weekly loaf of rye bread, and a tray of rock cakes to share with our visitors over the weekend.

Open studio 2024

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We will be open for the next two weekends in November, 16th/17th. for the Southern Highlands Arts Trail then the ACA Open Studios, Ceramics Arts Trail that is happening Nationally on the 4th weekend of the 23rd and 24th of Nov. 

We have plenty of pots in the gallery, floral bowls, and Mixing bowls.

Celadon mugs, Floral mugs, Sgraffito mugs and Sgraffito plates.

I have some unglazed, wood fired Tea bowls that I have been fettling and finishing during the week.

And some wood fired porcelain bowls, glazed with traditional blue celadon. This bowl has some carbon inclusion in the exposed body and is quite subtle and very beautiful in a restrained sort of way.

The cherry crop is in full swing just now and we are able to pick a kilo of cherries every few days. We had bowls full of cherries on offer to our visitors last weekend. 

As we have eaten our fill of fresh cherries, during the week I made home made cherry pie and cherry tarts – because I can!

This is the only week of the year when we can do this. So I make an effort and do it. What else are evenings for?

The recipe optimistically said that it takes 15mins to de-pip a kilo of cherries. It too Janine and I  30 mins. 4 times longer, but worth it. Nothing worse than biting into a delicious looking cherry tart and breaking a tooth on a rouge cherry stone.

I made the recipe with only half the sugar and it is just about right for my taste. I made an almond short crust pastry, quite a bit of fiddling around, but the end result is vaguely sweet, pleasantly soft and slightly crunchy. 

I had to go to the workshop and make a dozen stainless steel tart rings. I found a little piece of stainless off-cut, sliced it up in to strips and spot welded them together into small 60 x 20 mm tart rings. Waste not, want not.

Nothing is perfect, nothing is ever finished, and nothing lasts forever.

K-Pot Journal 2

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Building my kiln went pretty easily. 

Because the kiln shed wasn’t finished on time, the team of 8 professional kiln builders that are contracted to build the massive North Korean designed 5 chamber kiln that is going in the new shed next to mine, are all sitting with nothing to do for a couple of days, as the slab for their kiln hasn’t even been cast yet. The slab for my kiln was cast the day before I arrived, but as they were still finishing the roof of the shed I wasn’t allowed on site because of the danger of falling objects. So nothing happened for the first day for any of us. We all went into the nearest big town half an hour away to buy groceries for the coming week.

There is almost nothing fresh available here in this little village. There is a junk food ‘convenience store’ that mostly sells soft-drinks, tinned coffee, beer and cigarettes, and a very small ’supermarket’ where you can drop off the first word and buy dried and canned foods that aren’t particularly super in degree or range.

No one sells fresh vegetables, and understandably so, as everyone here, with exception of the dozen museum staff and research students, is involved in farming vegetables. I suppose that they either grow what they need themselves, or swap with neighbours who do. Either way there is nothing fresh in the two tiny shops here.

In the bigger nearby town of Yanggu, there is a choice of bigger grocery shops and one real supermarket. We travel there and get a weeks supply of almost everything that we can think of, that we might need to feed ourselves for the coming week. We spend about $700 on these 3 trolleys of various food items. It even includes shoju and beer! I notice that they sell red wine in there. So return by myself while the others are loading the cars, and buy 4 bottles of red wine, mostly of cheaper origins like Chilean and South Africa There is nothing from Australia available. 

I don’t enjoy shoju at all, but quite like the fermented rice wine called makoli and the local beer, but I feel that there might be an occasion when there will be an opportunity to share some claret in the coming evenings together. It turns out that I’m spot on with this decision. The bottle doesn’t go very far when shared 9 ways!

The first day of brick laying, with many helpers goes really fast and I lay out the parameters for the design and using a string line and plumb bob weight, I make sure that the chimney will be directly below the roof opening. This laying out is the slowest part of kiln building. Getting everything square and level before we start. 

Many hands make light work and we lay the two floor layers in record time. I introduce these Korean professional kiln builders to ‘herring bone’ pattern floor bricklaying technique. They don’t seem to recognise what I’m doing, but using my phone and a translation app, I explain it to them as best that I can, and one of them googles/navers it and announces that it is called herring bone, and they all nod approval, discussing it in detail in Korean chatter as we work. This pattern helps to avoid any straight through cracks developing from left to right or front to back as the kiln shifts and moves as it expands and contracts during its firings. 

2 days later,  I notice that they have decided to use it in the base pattern of brickwork of their kiln foundations as well!

I get this unexpected extra manpower help with my brickwork, as the slab for the big kiln next door is not yet cast. In fact, the local builders are still relocating soil for the earth ramp of the man-made slope and then framing the formwork for the slab. Unbelievably, they get the freshly tamped earth roughly level and tamped down, then all framed-up with formwork and the cement cast by late in the afternoon. I’m pretty amazed by this fast work. However, I do notice that there is no steel mesh used in the slabs, and with it cast on top of freshly placed earth substrate, Will it crack in due course? I have no idea, but hope for the best. These Korean workers sure are fast. Going on this, I can only suppose that there is no steel in my slab either.

I am working flat out, as fast as I can to lay down bricks in their final positions to be laid with mortar seconds later, by one of my several helpers. They are professionals and are so quick. I’m hoping that I don’t make any mistakes working at this speed, as there is no room for any error. It gets particularly stressful when I have to lay out all the mouse holes and tertiary air inlets in under the floor and in the first layer of the walls. They need to be precisely positioned to work effectively, and I have no time to second guess if they are exactly right or not. working with four bricklayers calling for bricks keeps me thinking of four different parts of the kiln at once. Mouse holes, stoke holes, tertiary air inlets, flue holes and the door openings are all required in this first layer, and all at the same time. I’m used to working at a much slower pace and thinking everything through thoroughly. There is no time to think here at this speed. Luckily, I’ve done this before a time or two, so everything goes well.

By the end of the second day, we have the walls well and truely started and up a few courses. I have the luxury of having two of these  enthusiastic helpers dedicated to using both of the diamond saws, cutting the hard fire bricks to special sizes to facilities the special openings that  I need for the tertiary air inlets. These guys have never seen a kiln like this one with so many holes in it. Traditional wood kilns here are very basic in their construction, often, just straight through tunnels, or multiple chambers, one after the other with only the flue holes to think about. They keep asking me how it will all work, and I am at a loss to be able to explain the intricacies of the design to them with my limited Korean and just some charades to do the explaining. It will have to wait until dinner time, when I can get out my lap top and show them some images of finished examples.  Everyone here has a phone with a translation app. I’m constantly turning round to face a phone screen to talk into, to give yet another explanation of a detail in the brick laying pattern.

I briefly have these 7 blokes on my team, and there is just one bloke stripping the form work and measuring the step dimensions and figuring out the layout for the big North Korean designed kiln next door. The cement slab is still fresh, soft and still very wet.

The next day, They are all going flat out on the big kiln, sorting out the necessary steps up the slope and making sure that the first layers will match the brick dimensions needed to align with the next step of brickwork. It’s a massive job. The kiln will have 5 chambers and a huge firebox with two arched openings at the front. They waste no time, and with 8 skilled workers the job flies up.

I am left to work on slowly on my small kiln, with occasional help from one of the bigger kiln team and someone to cart bricks and cut special shapes on the diamond saw when necessary. We work well together, and there is a lot of laughter, good natured banter and good will towards me. At the end of each work session, there are more questions about how it will work. I suspect that they think that I’m a bit mad, or at least quite quirky, expecting the fire to burn up-side-down and not roast my head off as a soon as I open the stoke-hole lid in the top of the fire box. Fire always burns upwards in their experience.

None of them has read my book on downdraught fire box kilns that The Director here of the Research centre has had translated into Korean about 5 or 6 years ago. Not a big seller apparently, among the traditional wood kiln building community?

I ask Mr Jung, The Director of the Porcelain Museum and Research Centre, to bring a copy of the book over to the kiln site, the next time that he visits, he does and it is passed around at morning tea time. A couple of the guys flip through the pages, but I don’t think that any one actually reads it in any detail. After dinner, I get out my lap top and show them images of other projects like this one to help explain what I’m try to achieve.

I build an arch formwork and set it in place on a stack of firebricks, using hand cut special wooden wedges that I place on top to adjust the formwork to the exact level needed, and also to allow me to pull them out and drop the wooden form work down free of the finished brick arch, to allow me to slide the formwork out of the chamber. This excites a little bit of interest in a couple of the bigger team, as they don’t appear to have ever seen this before. 

I have read in older books, perhaps Leach’s Potters Book? That they just leave the form work in place in the big oriental kilns and burn it out later, before the first firing. I though that this was a bit wastefull. So I have never done this, always removing the formwork to be used again in another kiln in the future. When I tap out the wedges and drop the form work, there is a little intake of breath and a smile from Mr Kim who is assisting me at the time. He smiles broadly and taps me on the shoulder, thumbs up. He’s impressed. word spreads and my position in the social order rises slightly. At dinner, some one asks me how old I am. I tell them I’m 72, nodding all round. From this time onwards, I’m always ushered through doorways first and given the front seat in the car when we go somewhere. I’m accepted as one of them as a professional kiln builder, but I’m also the oldest member of the team. So as such I garner a little bit of extra respect as well.

I finish the brickwork on my kiln by the end of the week and start to engage with all the multitude of little jobs that are needed to complete the kiln. I need make a load of ceramic buttons to attach the ceramic fibre insulation to the firebox lids. I also need to get a local company to cut and fold some thin stainless steel sheet to make the fire box lids.

I ask to be given a lift into the bigger nearby town of Yanggu, to buy steel angle iron and round bar to weld on the bracing. It all goes pretty smoothly, and in a couple of days the kiln is all braced in steel. Using a little portable stick welder I slowly work my way around the kiln, cutting and fitting the pieces together. I haven’t used a stick welder for 20 years. I’m a bit rusty on it, but it soon comes back to me. I’ve only used much more modern MIG and TIG welders in my kiln business for the past couple of decades. I have been spoilt by their speed and convenience, but I manage.

In some miraculous way, I manage to weld the 10mm dia. steel rod handles onto the 0.8mm. thick, or should I say thin, stainless steel sheet lids, using the little stick welder. This isn’t normally possible. The heat needed to melt the 10mm steel handle, is far too hot for the thin sheet and would normally burn a hole clean through the thin sheet. I’m aware of this, so prefabricate a small piece of angle iron backing plate that I clamp inside the lid to absorb most of this excess heat. I do burn a couple of small holes through here and there, but mostly it works well and I get the impossible done before lunch. More kudos from the pros on site.

 They are treating me as an equal. It’s turning out to be a very good job.

Not digital Native, but Dig it all native

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Dig it all native

I have always been interested in living gently. All my ceramic work incorporates this philosophy, this respect for the environment. My lifestyle choices include growing my own food, generating my own solar power, collecting my own drinking water, building my own hand-made house from local materials, and growing my own fuel for my kiln. So when it comes to making my work. I choose to make it from locally available materials that I can find around me, in my immediate locality, wherever this is possible. This grounds me in my environment. It also severely limits what I can make, however, this is not a problem, it is an intriguing challenge that engages me on many levels physically, mentally and spiritually.
I dig my native ceramic materials locally, within a 50 km radius of where I live. This has enabled me to develop my own unique quality of wood fired porcelain, proto-porcelains and blackware made from these special native stones. The Essential nature of this enterprise is about a respectful interaction with my environment, in this locality.
When I was young I wanted to believe that there were some absolutes in life. I wanted to believe that there could be a definition of such concepts as truth and beauty. I’ve come to realise that there will not be any absolutes in my life other than old age, incontinence and death, possibly taxes. I have had to come to terms with the fact that good and evil, truth and lies, beauty and ugliness are all relative and coexist in each of us, all of the time. I accept this duality and embrace the angst that comes with the rejection of false certainties.
 

We have lost our bush land, we are loosing our native animals. The corner shop has gone. We are forced to drive in a car to a distant, edge of town, shopping mall to get to a bank and supermarket. Our neighbours houses have locked gates and shuttered windows. In short we are loosing our society. Everything has changed in my lifetime, and I don’t see it as better. I go to great lengths to avoid supporting the shopping mall. I search out the remaining family owned small businesses, the butcher, baker, fish monger and the greengrocer, to do my trade We have worked to become largely self-reliant with most of our food from our garden and orchards, but we still need to buy some protein.
 

We are no longer a nation of makers, we are all being corralled into becoming a nation of consumers. I reject this coercion. I will not buy vinyl coated chip-board and plastic, throw-away rubbish from Ikea or the hyper-mall. This apparent convenience is ruining the world. I want real things in my life, things that are beautiful as well as useful and that will last a lifetime if needed. I enjoy engaging with the patina of age and the mundane chips and tears of a life well lived on objects that I have come to love and respect.

Being brought up in a loosely Buddhist/Quaker household, I was probably the only 7 year old in my primary school who knew the whereabouts of the Dalai Lama, or even who he was. Not that I thought that this was in any way important at the time, but looking back now it seems a bit weird? Given this starting point, it should be no surprise that my first pot in 1959 was an interpretation of a Tibetan butter lamp. It’s amazing what kids pick up from parents conversations. Not that I knew much about Tibetan butter lamps, but it is quite interesting to me on reflection, that this is what I chose to make, sitting in the gutter of the dirt road in front of where we lived and picking out fresh wet clay from the gutter after a rain storm. I suppose that it supports Loloya’s assertion that the man is made in the child before his seventh year.
My mother kept that pot all her life and after her death, I discovered it amongst her personal treasures, tucked safely away, wrapped in cotton wool, in a box in her wardrobe. So it came back to me and I still have it. At that time, in this family setting, it was not the pot that was important, but the activity of its making and the effect that the pot and its creation would have on the maker and the people who used it, which was up for discussion and appreciation. Around this time it became clear to me that the best things in life were not things at all.
 

Rachel Carson was a hot topic in 1962. I was 10 and old enough to be expected to help shovel manure into the ‘turned’ compost heap for the large, extended-family vegetable plot that fed us all. In 1972 I had decided that I wanted to be a professional potter and was at Art School, starting to wonder where I would be living and how I could achieve a passive, independent existence as an artist. The Vietnam War was in full swing. I registered as a Conscientious Objector and the ‘The Club Of Rome’ released ‘Limits to Growth’.
I decided that I could only hope to achieve financial, artistic and food security if I chose to live out in the country where land was cheaper and the air and water cleaner. These events and others like them ground my cultural lens and set its focal length. So now when I think about firing my kiln, I first think how important it is to fire as cleanly as possible, as I would be the first one to be concerned, if my neighbour were to create a lot of unnecessary smoke and pollution in his day to day life. I don’t see that being involved in a creative activity gives us some sort of carte blanche or ‘get out of jail free card’ to pollute.
 

I also think about how I can use as little wood as possible while still being able to see that my pot is obviously wood fired. I don’t buy my wood from a merchant. I grow it, cut it and split it myself. I have a finite amount of energy, everything that happens here is facilitated by human effort. However, I do use a few machines these days to help me do the heavy work as I get older. I have replaced my original old, hand cross-cut saw with a chain saw. The block buster with a hydraulic splitter. The water bucket with a pump. Hand and foot mixing my clay with a pug mill. I am not a luddite, but I am aware that everything has an environmental cost. However, as I age I need to reduce the physical strain on my body if I’m to continue to keep working and creating beautiful objects into the future.
 

I have an image of what I want to create. I chase it. It is beautiful, but elusive. I can never achieve what is in my minds eye, but I keep prosecuting the illusion that it is possible. I like the intimacy of the bowl form. It is small, round and engaging when cupped in the hands. I love them as objects, the symbolism of sharing, the embedded meaning of the food container, nourishment and sustenance. I love the rich history of the peasant rice bowl and the Japanese tea bowl. They are omnipresent at every level of my life. I eat and drink from my bowls every day

This image that I have of a beautiful bowl worthy of contemplation has a gentle wood fired and flashed surface. A surface that I have worked at developing over the past forty five years of my creative practice, where my selected local timbers, when burnt in my hand made kiln, leave their delicate ash patterns on the surface of my locally sourced, water-ground native porcelain stone clay bodies. This subtle wood fired ash glazing of the ceramic surfaces at high temperatures develops a wide range of colours, textures and patinas that are not usually seen on porcelain.

I think a lot about my firing process and the best way to get the soft, delicate and engaging surfaces that are tactile and suited to being hand held and smoothly functional as well as endeavoring to exploit Asian aesthetic concepts of irregularity. This porcelain is not from the moulds of Sèvres or Meissen. This work has a proud Southern Hemisphere heritage.
 

I also think about the effect that my firing will have on others, my neighbours and finally myself and my family. Will these small bowls that I am making have any genuine useful place in society? Will the viewer appreciate the philosophical meaning embedded in their making? I certainly hope so, but nothing is certain.

It has been said that the most rare and expensive commodity today is time. My methods are fully hands-on, antiquated, quaint and oh, so very slow, so my output is quite small. These objects are time solidified and made manifest. Beautiful, unique things like these take time to be brought to life, and more time to be given a useful life in daily use, so that they develop their mundane scars and patina of use. They grow and develop with time, just as they require time to be fully appreciated by use and enquiry.

The unexamined bowl, is a bowl not worth living with.
You can buy those bowls at Ikea.