Te sukuri nobebera

The hand made stretchy stick!

Following on from my visit to the maker of Kanna turning tools and other wooden pottery tools. This afternoon, I have just found the time to make my commitment to my new hand-made stretchy stick. An implement used here for throwing the inside of open forms. This particular one is specifically made for throwing and opening up bowl forms, stretching them out, as it were. So why would I want one? šŸ™‚

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It was impressed upon me at the time of purchase that this tool is a partnership for life. A tool made of superior, old, well seasoned, azalea wood, that will last my whole lifetime if looked after, but it needs to be customised to my hand and my feel for the clay, then adjusted for my technique andĀ the specific bowls that I am making. I will probably end up needing several of these tools in various subtlely different iterations. I may make some of my own once I have got used to this one, and if I find that it can be accommodated to my own preferences for throwing. I have plenty of fruit tree pruning wood at home, some in reasonably large enough cross-section to be useful for this application. I also have some very old, well seasoned, red grained, eucalyptus. That might be good to experiment with?

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This afternoon I went to the hardware shop and had a sort of conversation, if you can call charades with funny noises a conversation? I don’t have sufficient vocabulary for this situation and they didn’t have much English, but together we managed to laugh our way through all the options until we arrived at the objective which was sand paper. If I were at home, I have all this stuff on tap in the workshop, but here every little job, becomes a much larger exercise in communication and perseverance, as well as good will and humour.
I ended up buying two sheets of sand paper. No. 60# and 240# mesh, to sand my new nobebera, This tool looks like a shoe-horn sort of shape.
I spent 2 hours working on it, so that it would fit my hand better, and now it’s looking and feeling pretty special and a lot more comfortable. Smooth as glass. This old seasoned azalea wood is really tough and hard to work. I wasn’t expecting it to take 2 hours, but it did, and it isn’t finished yet.
After I was reasonably happy with the fit and contour, I wet it and let it dry to rise the grain. Then sanded it all over again with the fine grade paper, to get it very smooth, so that the raised wood grain won’t leave streaky scratch lines inside the bowl during throwing.
I need to throw with it for a few hours to get a better feel for what else I need to do to get the best out of it. Once it was mostly right, or as right as I can imagine to begin with, all the roughness sanded off and the tip smoothed out, made silky smooth and with an even curve.Ā I gave it a thin rub over with some olive oil to finish it off ready for some work. It looks and feels good. When you buy these tools from the maker, they are only roughly shaped and need a lot of finishing to bring them up to your personal preference for the precise shape and finish.
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Tatsuya san took me to the maker’s workshop last week and chose what he thought was the best one for me. He alsoĀ drew on it with a pencil, to indicate what he thought should be the correct finished shape.
It was $50 bucks and not even finished!
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Tatsuya demonstrated using his when we were there at his place this time last year and he threw for us. He has had his for the 40 years that he has been a potter. His are nicely wabi,sabi now and well-worn in. The azalea wood is very hard to sand. I can tell that it will be a good, hard-workingĀ tool with a long life.
Thank you Tatsuya. I am grateful!
Best wishes from Steve in the very special porcelain town of Arita

Stalking the wild Kanna

I came to Japan with a few projects in mind and as my stay here develops someĀ of my plans haveĀ fallen into place, while it has become apparent that others will not be achievable on this trip. But there will always be the possibility of another time?

One of the little side projects that I had in mind was to buy some ‘kanna’. Kanna is the Japanese word for sharp edged tool, so it can be applied to razors, knives, wood working planes as well as potters turning tools. In particular, I’m here to find the source of the very special and quite rare, tungsten carbide tipped turning tools that the porcelain potters here use.

I have tracked down and visited 4 potters supply shops now, I find something of interest in each one. Today I followed a lead up into the hills to find a small workshop where I’m told that there is a man who actually makes the tools from scratch. I’ve been lucky enough to meet someone, who knows someone who can take me there

My guidesĀ took me to visit this special tool maker in his workshop right up in the hills, into the next provence. In a small shed in the bush, down a little lane, in a gully, under the huge concrete pylons of the freeway, that passes straight over the valley. Finally I have found the unremarkable workshop of the humble tungsten carbide turning tool maker. It’s a small unprepossessing shed. You wouldn’t look at it twice, and it’s ever so small to boot. No signage, no identification. You just have to know!
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We go in and straight away I can see that this is a real metal workers workshop. It has the taste and flavour of metal all about it. The types of machines, the black metal dust on the floor. The smell of burnt resin binder on the carbide cutting disks. It all seems, looks and smells Ā so familiar. Parts of it could be my metal working shed. So I finally get to track the shy and elusive, wild Kanna to its source. So this is it’s natural and unspoilt habitat. Don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Something corporate, larger and more commercial/industrial. It all seems so humble and small scale and it is!
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This is Japanese artisanal work. The sort of thing that is slowly dying out here. At least it has lasted this long. I am a very lucky man to get here now. In this place and this time. I am grateful. This lovely man is quietly spoken and very humble, as far as I can tell with no language to communicate with at a deep level. But you can sense a person’s character from their demeanour, even without words. I only have greetings and platitudes. I’m so glad that I have my friends and guides here to translate for me. Because I want to know more about the process and how he works.
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Apparently this workshop is only open in the mornings. After that he has other things to do?? Maybe a second job? or out on the road selling his wares, because not too many people will find him here in the this unmarked shed on an unsign-posted lane, out of the way from a small town. Although people in the know do find him here. While we are there a young girl drove up with two tools she bought a while ago. She wants them re-sharpened.
I looked through his boxes of stock and find two tools that will be of use to me. it’s a bit difficult for me, because firstly, I’m left handed and secondly I work in the reverse rotation to the Japanese style. So not all tools will be suitable for me. I can commission some to be custom-made, but this won’t be necessary. I can find everything that I need in symmetrically shaped Kanna.Ā I buy two of his tools from him. That just about completes my set.
Then to my surprise, I’m told that he also makes wooden tools as well. A real renaissance man! So I can’t resist buying a hand carvedĀ ‘nobebera’, or ‘nijiki’ throwing profile from him as well. He has boxes of these in stock too. Different shapes for different pots. Funnily enough I want one for throwing small bowls! I don’t know which one to choose from his stock, as I am so inexperienced and naive the these matters, so I buy the oneĀ recommended by my friend. I get a quick lesson along the way about what to look for in an ideal nobebera.
I had no idea that this guy we were going visit was a complete all-rounder. Ā He also makes these special wooden throwing tools himself. It’s a very long process, 12 months in the making. Sometimes longer, it all depends on the cross-section of the wood, that has to be seasoned properly. Some of the thicker sections need Ā to be seasoned for up to three years in water, before starting the process. He uses ancient, thick cross-section, Azalea wood, called ā€˜nijiki’ here. 125mm in dia. that is up to 50 years old. He roughs out the shape and then soaks the wooden proto-form in water for severalĀ months, then slowly dries it for another few more, before shaping it to almost-right. It has to be cut from the branchĀ in such a way that the eye of the grain is centrally located in the tip of the curve. He then lets it warp as it dries completely. As it finishes its drying and settles into shape it needs a bit more re-shaping. Finally,Ā a few months later, when it has stabilised, comes his final shaping and it’s now ready to sell. 12 to 24 months to the day after it was cut.
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My friendĀ is at pains to point out that this is only the beginning of my mutual contract with the maker and this tool. It will warp to suit my methods and the humidity in Australia, when I get it home, so don’t expect that this is it. You have to use it and then re-shape it a little yourself, to get it just right for your purpose. It will probably need a little thinning out as well when you get tit home, to get it just thin enough to be flexible, but not so thin that it breaks under pressure. It is starting to sound like the making of a good cello, all the intricacies of the living wood and how it is never really stable, constantly responding to its circumstances and environment.
I buy the one that my friend has selected for me out of a box of about 50. He knows what to look for, He has some of these tools that are 40 years old in use in his studio.
Its a beautiful thing. I am proud to own it, and consider myself especially fortunate, to have met the maker in his native environment and seen where it is made. In-situ as it were. Ā It is such a privilege!

Best wishes from Steve atĀ home in the natural habitat of the hand madeĀ Kanna and nobebera.

Being a Tourist in Kyoto

Kyoto is a marvellous city for someone like me who loves Japanese culture. It has so much to offer. I just love to spend some time detouring around the back streets and lanes on my way to what-ever project I have on for that day. It’s easy to navigate, as it is all set out on a grid system, it’s flat for the most part and very safe, even at night.

Wandering around in Kyoto is a very interesting way to spendĀ time. One place that I always have to visit on my way to the antique sellers district is the Terramachi covered market and the cross street Nishiki market where all the traditional foods were sold.

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Nishiki still has a lot of tradition there, but the tourist shops are creeping in, specifically because of people like me visiting. I try not to buy plastic crap, but others do apparently, so the foods sellers are being slowly squeezed out in favour of tourist junk, and as a tourist, I’m responsible in part.Ā Isn’t it amazing how we kill that what we most cherish!

Still, although I don’t buy much food here, only finger food to eat on the go. I just don’t have a kitchen here, so there isn’t much point. I still can’t resist the stroll up and back along the Nishki street, taking in all the exotic sights and smells.

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I love the smell of the pickle stand and the grilled fish stall, but one of my favourite shops is the knife makers shop, Aritsugu. They have been in Kyoto forever. Since the 1500’s I believe, this is currently theĀ 18th generation. I wonder if his son will carry on? No pressure! The family used to be samurai sword makers, but when peace broke out, they changed to making domestic kitchen knives instead. I have bought a few knives here over the years, and one of the lovely things about it is that the knives on display are only samples. Each one represents a tray-ful of others. All waiting in their series ranks to be chosen and finished off. Each knife is almost ready tho sell, but needs that final honing and polish on the wet stone to get the edge extra fine and ready for work. Then, you can also get your name engraved in the blade to personalise it. At no extra cost. I have bought a few knives here, mostly for my chef son and other friends, but not today. I’m on a tight budget and I’m only here for the entertainment.

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When I emerge from the markets, Karate. Empty handed. I have to wait to cross the street, because there is an anti-war demonstration going on. It is about a kilometre long all the way down the street. Very orderly, with precise breaks, so that we can cross the road. I can’t read any of the verbiage, but I gather that they are protesting against the new changes proposed to go before the Diet – parliament. That will allow the Japanese military to change their role from a strictly defense force to something else, somewhat more ‘off-shore’ and possibly aggressive?

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No trip to Kyoto would be complete for a potter without a visit to Kanjiro Kawai’s House and Museum. Secluded away in a back lane just off the main road. It is a quiet, tranquil respite from the traffic and a chance to go back 50 years or so to its heyday. It doesn’t seem to be as impressive this time around as it was the first time I went thereĀ 30 years ago. But is still good. I’m amazed that they could fire the 7 chamber climbing kiln smack in the middle of the city like this, right up until 1979. It must have been filthy!

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I stumble across a giggling twitter of girls who have just emerged from having a Maiko-makeover and are out to enjoy the Gion district in a mufti-reversal.

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After a long days walk, I reward myself with a cup of tea at the temple in the afternoon. It’s a great caffeine hit to keep me going for the rest of the afternoon.

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Fond regards from Steve in Kyoto

Taking Time to Take Tea

I have an interest in tea, only minor in the scheme of things, but it’s been consistent in my life. I love the old tea houses, especially when the thatch gets that mossy look of age, that special wabi, sabi Ā look. There are some especially intuitive, gifted and sensitive people out there to be sure. I’m not one of them, but in my better moments, I can see and appreciate the profoundly beautiful things that they have left behind for me to experience. It’s a joy that highlightsĀ my day.

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One one of my walks I come across a temple where you can take tea. So I do. I take the time. I sit and I ponder. It isn’t in my vague plan for today, but it is very much welcome and appreciated. This is time unplanned and well spent.Ā The caffeine really enlivens my step afterwards too.

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I did my washing today. What more could you want?

Much ado about Nothing

I’m finding on this visit to Kyoto that so many of the temples areĀ beingĀ re-constructed, but not in a Post Modern way. Rather it’s in a Post Ancient, or using ancient posts kind of way.Ā Most of the work seems to involve renewing the roofs. I was here more or less this time last year and we were able to walk through some of the Higashi-Honganji temple, even though the tradesmen were in doing the work. It was amazing to see them build such a big scaffolding structure over the end of the temple, all set up on tracks, so that as the work progresses, they can winch the covering building along over the next bit, until it’s finished. It will apparently take some years to complete.

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The Largest-Cast-Bronze-Buddha-in-the-world-Temple, Todai-Ji, at Nara is now the Largest-Cast-Bronze-Buddha-Under-a-Temporary-Tin-Roof-Buddha-Temple-in-the-world. Everybody has to have something that defines us as special, even buddhists. It’s all about nothingness, but the biggest building in which to find nothingness seems to be important. Even the Kiyomizu-dera Temple is under reconstructive surgey at the moment.

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I’ve been visiting quite a few temples while I’m here. There are temples featuring wood, moss, stone, raked gavel, water, gold and silver(not), Apparently it’s important to be about something while your contemplating nothing. If zen is a sense of cohesion and tranquility found in emptiness, then I’m on the right track. I have come to terms with some sort of concept of emptiness while I’ve been visiting the temples here. Firstly, my wallet is a lot emptier, that’s for sure, I’m pretty certain about that. But one can never tell. Maybe it’s only an illusion?

My tummy is a lot emptier, as I’m on the 2nd day of fasting now and as I search for emptiness and nothingness. Emptiness sure feels like something to me right now. I’m finding it hard to tell, when or if I’ve found it. Nothing is a hard concept to achieve and inhabit while still being able to tell the difference. So I can safely claim that I have successfully found nothing so far. However, I’ll keep looking, just in case I don’t find more of it.

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I start the day very early to beat the heat. The sun is casting oblique shadows across the land. The Golden Temple is beautiful. It too was under reconstruction on one of my previous visits. Now it’s all out of its wrappers and showing off in its splendid, glittering, blingy sort of way. So quiet, peaceful and unassuming. Hard to notice that it is even there sort of attitude, while screaming, “Look at me”!

Money, wealth and worldly achievements don’t matter apparently. I suppose that this includes gold? Just the sort of place to look for nothing. The guy who built it was really ripped off. When the builders covered it with gold at the end, they covered all the windows too. So he couldn’t even see out to look on the quiet lake at its foot or feet, I’m not too sure if temples have one or many? I think that he could have saved a lot of money and put in double glazing instead of gold leaf. The insulation value would be heaps better than gold and the view improved out of sight, well, actually into sight.

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Still, he did better that the guy who built the Silver Pavilion Temple. He didn’t even get any silver on it. The builders shot through before the silver was applied and all that they left was a big pile of white buildersĀ sand on the site. I did eventually find some silver there. It was all dropped into the wishing well pond. I wonder if it works – wishing I mean. As I’m looking for nothing, I didn’t bother throwing anything in, I don’t want my wish to come true. I might get something, while what I’m really after is nothing.

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The weather changes while I am here and there is a storm, it’s been coming for a while now. I can sense it in the air and in me. I’m out on the path around the garden and it’s teeming down.

I stand and watch the not-quite Silver Temple melt away in the rain.

The storm has resulted in every one leaving. They scurry for the security of the visitors centre.

I’m here alone.

The path is empty.

The world disolves.

There is only the rain.

I walk across town to Ryoan-ji. Here the path is straight and true, but also strangely empty. It’s mid day now and the sun is almost directly overhead. The storm clouds are gone and the sun is beating down. It’s hot, muggy and humid.

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Finally at Ryoan-ji I start to come to grips with the the paradox inherent in Zen. At Ryoan-ji, you don’t have to pay to walk around the lakeĀ and grounds like you do at all the other temples. Here you only pay to go in and see the raked gravel and the 15 stones. Here’s the paradox. When you go in, you can’t see the 15 stones, You pay for 15, but only ever see 14. If you walk to the other side you can now see the missing stone, but one of the original stones is now obscured. There are only ever 14 stones. Even though there are 15! Deep stuff! I paid money for this.

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It’s hard to take it all in. Even for my little camera. I sit and think about this for quite a while. But nothing comes.

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Janine and I were recently reminded of the Zen concept of non-aquisitiveness when she spent a bit of time with theĀ TibetanĀ Buddhist Monks. As a fund raiser, they sold her a Tibetan, hand-woven, woollen, mobile phone cover. There’s an example of encouraging non-acquisitiveness for you.

Best wishes from SteveĀ in Kyoto, on the emptyĀ path, and not doing much about nothing,

Toji Markets

As it is the 21st of the month, and I’m in Kyoto, that means it is the day of the Toji Markets. They are held on the 21st of the month, regardless of the day. Today it is a Friday. So off I go. The markets are held in the grounds of the Toji Temple, hence the name, not too far from the main Kyoto station. It’s usually a very busy market and very full of all sorts of stalls. Today, however, it is only half full, as it Ā has rained pretty heavily over night and is still pissing down this morning. I guess a lot of the stall holders just stayed home. The rain cleared about 10 am. and then it was fine, getting very hot in the early afternoon. I eventually needed a hat, but only brought an umbrella.

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Everything that you could want is here, even on a slow day like today. There are fruit, veggies, clothes, pots, pickles, fabric, beads, furniture and hot food. You name it and it is probably here. I’m particularly looking for and old pot with character. perhaps a tea bowl? I missed one last time I was here. I could kick myself. I passed it up because it was Y45,000. Way above my budget, but I could have afforded it if I’d changed my other plans and rearranged my budget. It scarred me off. I should have extended my self. But travelling on a strict budget has its limits, and that was past mine, and now it’s past tense.

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I’m still looking for something exotic, quirky, interesting, unusual, with just a touch of the sabi/wabi’s about it, but today, no luck. I can’t see anything in the way of an old pot that speaks to me. There are plenty of them here, but not one with my name on it today. I eventually settle for an old, not very old, maybe 80 to 100 years old, Soba noodle cup. The straight down the line white porcelain with washed out small blue brushwork, chipped foot ring and a bit of age staining. Delicate and light and speaking lots about oldĀ Japanese porcelain. I love the things. They are still fairly cheap and reasonably easy to find, but I notice that they are creeping up in price each year that I come here, and the best ones cost the most – of course!

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To get it to the market, you have to pass through the temple gates. They are massive wooden installations and quite old, recently repaired and restored and beautifully done too. Just inside the gates there is an old lady with a stall selling old, used, indigo cotton fabric. I’m very fond of this stuff, both plain and patterned. I use it to patch my own worn out work clothes. I don’t really know what it is worth, so I don’t buy the first samples that I see. I make sure that I do the whole circuit of the site, looking at every stall first. Eventually I go back and buy some of the earlyĀ bits that I saw, as they turn out to be the cheapest bits that are in reasonably good condition with still some wear left in them. The plain stuff is the best, as once it has been dyed in Indigo, it is toxic to bugs or something, so nothing will eat it. I find thatĀ the patterned fabric has some of the white bits eaten out, or just rotted away and become fragile somehow. Maybe it’s the ultra-violet in the sunlight? I don’t know.

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There is so much good food here. I want to try it all, but I hold out for the okonomiyaki. It’s my favourite. I can’t think of anything more delicious and ever so fresh as this. Cooked in front of your eyes in a few minutes. I could describe it as chopped cabbage cooked in a light pancake batter, with bacon and egg and other bits of dressings and herbs and spices like red pickled ginger. Ever so yummy. Oishii Desu!

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I see a few old wooden stools that are nice, but totally out of the question for me. I also see some of the freshest and plumpest ginger that I have ever seen. If only I had a kitchen!

A day spent wandering the Toji markets is a full days entertainment with almost free entrance, only a coin donation to the temple at the door.

After the firing – pruning in the garden

The weather has turned somewhat balmy after the snow. Maybe spring is on the horizon? Many trees are now in bud and the earliest peaches, plums and almonds are in flower.

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I get up very early to start the firing in the wood fired kiln. It’s 4am. It’s bitterly cold and there is a crunchy frost that I can’t see in the pitch darkness of the very late night/early morn, but I can hear and feel it ā€˜crunch’ underfoot as I walk down to the pottery.

The firing goes well enough. Pretty well straight down the line as expected. It ought to, as this is the 23rd firing of this version of this iteration of this kiln. Before I could pack the kiln, I had to crawl inside the fire-box to chip out the build up of ash glaze slag. This is fairly normal, but this time I also had to chip out the stump of a snapped off hob brick, that broke off during the last firing and dropped into the firebox. A tricky job as the space is pretty limited, there isn’t much room to swing a hammer in there. In the past I have drilled several holes into the brick and then broken it into smaller pieces that I can chip out. It happens every few years.

This time I try something different. I decide to drill a hole from the outside of the kiln, into the spot where the back of the broken stub of firebrick ought to be. I line it up pretty closely and then using a metal rod, I hammer the old firebrick remnant out of it’s hole, where it has been sitting glazed in tight with all the wood ash for some time. It obliges me and slowly lets go and comes out of its socket fairly easily in only two pieces and a lot of small rubble and spalls.

Maintenance seems to take up and extraordinary amount of my time at this end of my life. This job has gone well, but others are waiting and ongoing. The kind of wood firing that I have developed is quite sedate and well paced with plenty of time to do small jobs, clean up and put away all the tools used in the packing. I sometimes do small maintenance jobs, but they have to be very simple. I can’t afford to get too involved in anything other than the process of firing. I certainly have time to sit and think, plan and ponder. It’s so luxurious to have time to just sit and think. I can afford this luxury, precisely because I have made sure that I have all the necessary wood fuel, and more, cut, split and stacked inside the kiln shed before I start the fire. I make a mental list of all the repair jobs that are waiting to be attended to. I need to replace the last piece of plastic crap that has recently snapped off the pottery roof.

This second piece of plastic crap storm water gutter head has also disintegrated and fallen from the pottery roof, just a couple of months after the first one.

(see; “Note to self: Don’t buy plasticĀ crap”Ā Posted onĀ 04/05/2015Ā )Ā I swore that I wouldn’t buy another modern plastic one, and I won’t. So I take an hour off and make a new one out of stainless steel off-cuts from the kiln factory. As it’s my second one in two months, I can still remember how I made the first one and this one goes very quickly, as I avoid all the mistakes that I made inventing and making the first one. The upper face has to be raked back at an angle of 45 degrees, so that it can be fitted with some stainless steel mesh that acts as a leaf deflector.

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The list of jobs is endless. Now, the guttering on the wood shed has rusted through with all the leaf litter that blows onto that roof from the tree cover. I make a new gutter and fit it up. I’m proud to say that I don’t buy prefabbed stop-ends and down-spouts. I was shown how to make them by one of my mentors. Joe Enfield, the local village plumber 40 years ago. I worked for him as his labourer/assistant for a couple of years when I first came here and didn’t have a proper house and certainly no pottery workshop or kiln. It took me a couple of years to get established again here after we were burnt out in a bush fire in Dural, where we had been renting a place.

I learnt a lot working for Joe. I was only employed on a casual basis on bigger jobs, or where there was crawling under-floor work or a lot of ladder work, as Joe was in his 60’s and close to retirement. He wasn’t obliged to teach me anything, That wasn’t the deal, Ā but we got on well together and he invested a lot of time in me because he could see that I was keen to learn. I don’t make very good sheet metal work, roof flashing or plumbing, but what I do works and doesn’t leak. I work in the old fashioned way that I was taught by Joe. One of the last of the ā€˜Old School’ plumbers who still knew do all the old hand skills.

I’m often in at the plumbers wholesale suppliers. They know that I’m not a plumber. I ask all the dumb questions about taps and toilets etc. I only have an account there because I buy a lot of gas fittings for my kiln work. So when I get a length of guttering, but decline the stop ends and down spouts, that are usually sold with it, they question me about it. All the plumbers buy the prefabbed parts, why don’t I. I’m proud to say that I can make my own from off cuts, scrap and leftover bits. Just the way that I was taught. Sometimes I end up making the parts out of stainless steel – because I can! I have more stainless steel off-cuts than galvanised metal to work with.

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The firing proceeds slow and steady all the way up to top temperature. It turns out to be a glorious warm day with no wind. This firing, I go to 1320oC. Cone 11 down in the hot spot. 16 hours to top temp and then a 2 hour controlled burning down, until it is safe to leave it to cool naturally. I have my friend, Jim Black here throughout this firing. He helps me pack the kiln by rolling out all the little balls of wadding. During the firing, we sit and chat and solve all the worlds problems while we watch the kiln fire itself. Getting up every so often to stoke more logs into the firebox as necessary. We’re quite ready for bed when it’s all clammed up at 10pm.

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The next couple of days, while the kiln is cooling, I have my other friend Warren here to help with the winter pruning. We get stuck in and prune all the almonds, blue berries and grape vines, trim the hedge and then weed and mow all the almonds, vegetable garden and citrus grove. it’s a long day, but well worth it when we look back after it’s finished. Everything in there is in good shape for spring now.

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The next day we take down some ageing wattle trees that are over hanging the fuel shed. Its a slow process, because there are three big terracotta pots under these trees. One of them is from the Parliament House Project, from back in 1988. To drop these trees safely, I need to eliminate the weight of the upper branches, in the right places, bit by bit, by taking off one branch at a time, until each tree is whittled down to a trunk that can be chained to the truck and winched over in the right direction, so that it falls safely into a vacant space in the garden. The trunk and larger branches are then cut up into small kitchen-stove sized lengths and wheelbarrowed over to the wood shed to season for a year. The three trees take us all day to deal with and then clean up all the mess.

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While I’m in a gardening mood, I optimistically decide to plant out a few carrot and beetroot seeds. Maybe it’s a little bit early yet, but it somehow seems to be a little warmer and the days are certainly getting longer. The garden trowel has completely rushed away at the end, by being left stuck in the soil while not in use. It’s rusted away down to half its length. I should have looked after it better. It’s only lasted 18 years. I make a new blade for it out of galvanised steel sheet, weld it on and give it a few coats of zinc paint. lets hope i get another 18 years out of it. I suspect that the old hardwood handle won’t last that long? Self reliance is all about making do and doing with what I can make.

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This is just one more of the many jobs that have been on my to-do list for some time now. I seem to cross one off and Janine adds two more. We can never get to the end of the list, but it’s fun trying and doing most things ourselves. It beats working for a living.

Best wishes

from the Artful Bodger

Giving What I Can

So it’s tax time. Something to cheer up this dreary, dull, cold time of the season.
I have my tax return back, and the good news is that I have earned a couple of thousand dollars more than last year.
I was listening to Philip Adams recently, on the Late Night Live replay. I was packing the kiln and the radio was on to keep me company. It filled the back ground space. I tuned in to this guy that Philip Adams was interviewing. He and his wife have dedicated their lives to the good will of others.
He is a philosopher and his wife is a doctor. They have formed a web site that encourages the reader to re-think the way that we pay a proportion of our savings to those less-fortunate than ourselves.
try googling ā€˜giving what we can’
Following their links I learned that I am in the top 8.6% of the worlds population.
and that my income is greater than 13.6 times the global average.
I was a bit humbled by this. I regularly give 2% of my income to charity. This is pretty pathetic, but I believe that it is widely accepted that this is the minimum amount that a well-fed person in an advanced western economy should be able to afford to give. I recognise that I am very well-off. I’m not doing enough, but I thought that I was doing what I could easily manage. I have now been eased into thinking that I could do more. Perhaps I’m a bit self-complacent, and just a touch lazy and out of the loop of knowing what life is like in the third world. I have some inkling, but I don’t spend any time dwelling on it.
As I have raised my income up from 32,000 PA Ā to 34,000 I decide to give 10% of this extra income to charity. Small fry, but it is some sort of gesture. I know that I am really comfortable in my life and I should do more, but I want to do lots of things. So I settled on this amount. It’s what I can live with.
I can’t give 40% of my income like these amazingly committed couple, I have already honed my lifestyle down to a pretty frugal minimum, but 10% of my excess above my usual standard income. I can live with that.
I have been giving to several charities over the years. I give them a nominal amount each time they ask, and then they ask for more, I give them my donation and the cycle repeats. I give many small amounts to a lot of organisations. Last year I decided to give each of the charities $100 each in a one-off payment for the year and then nothing else, for 12 months. In response, I Immediately got in the return mail $100 worth of glossy advertising material posted out to me. Clearly I had made a very big mistake. When I sent $25 each month to each of these charities. I didn’t show up on their radar at all. just small fry, to be ignored. But, when I increased my donation level up to $100, then I was to be considered a contender to be milked for a larger amount. Trying to get me onto a regular, larger, automatic donation. As I don’t have any regular income, I can’t commit to any regular payments. I can only give when I know that I have it in the bank to be able to do so.
I can now see that my effort to do ‘the right thing’, was mis-interpreted by the charity cash-raising industry that is employed by the charity organisations. Ā Without a salary, or any ā€˜regular’ income. I can’t afford to give a large sum regularly. I can see now that giving a larger amount was a mistake, because I gave $100 in a lump sum to the charity and got $120 worth of glossy paper encouraging me to give more, now!
I declined. I realised that I wasted my small amount of precious money, on that occasion.
We live and learn.
This year I decided to give the total amount in one lump sum to a local charity, that is so small that it doesn’t even have a glossy brochure. Its mission is to build a home for the care of challenged people who need help and support. It is organised, by the parents of these children/adults , such that they might be eased out of their ageing parents homes and into a supportive environment, in a caring way, so that they might be able to become self-supporting eventually. It’s a brave venture and I believe, worthy of support. It’s entirely locally organised by and for these local people.
I sent off all my money and what do you think that I got in the mail the very next week?
Thankfully, all I got in response was a receipt!
I hope that this money is well spent and that the venture is completely realised in the fullness of time.

More Meat Than I’ve Ever Eaten

I’ve just come to realise that the whole time that I was in China, I seemed to be eating meat 3 times a day. I usually only eat meat occasionally. However, as I think back, every meal seemed to have some sort of meat involved in some way. Even breakfast. I never eat meat for breakfast! But over in China the wantons in the soup or the steamed buns all seemed to have a little bit of meat in them. I must say that I enjoyed it immensely too. The food was great. I didn’t go out of my way to eat meat at every meal, it just seemed to be the way that it was. I just went along with what was on the table.

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Now I’ve been home for a moth I decide to have a leg of pork for dinner. I get it boned, rolled and tied by the butcher. He also scores the skin for me. It takes a very sharp blade to do this and he is used to it, so I let him do it. I only tried once and was surprised how tough it was. none of my knives in the kitchen are kept in such a sharp condition, especially at the tip.

I make up a paste of garlic, bay leaves, pepper, some coriander seeds and a little salt. I pound all this together in one of our home made , wood fired, hand thrown mortar and pestles and crush it and grind it into a sort of paste. It needs a little bit of olive oil to get it to all flow in together. This paste is used to smear over the surface of the rolled roast before baking. It goes into a slow over for a very long time.

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It stays cooking slowly for a few hours in the wood stove. As we are out working all day in the pottery, kiln shed, wood shed and garden. There are always more jobs to get done than there is time to do them. So we do what we can and let the rest just migrate to the bottom of the list and then fall off the end almost without noticing. But I do notice. I should just let them go, in true Buddhist style, but their ghost just lingers on in the back of my mind, as I sum up the day and try to let it all fade away with my out-breath, I “press the recline buttons down with dreamland coming onā€. Of all the various activities that go into making up a life, most are just mundane, some tedious, lots repetitive, but it’s those few moments that are special that give a little sense of satisfaction, an achievement, that I remember. They are the glue that holds it all together. Picking fresh vegetables from the garden for a dinner like this is nothing special, we’ve done it almost everyday for 40 years, but it is always a pleasure and it is part of todays glue.

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We are getting frosts most mornings these days. Only light frost, perhaps -1oC, I don’t know, but it is enough to kill everything that is sensitive, but not not so cold as to make its way down to the ā€˜Pantry Field’ garden. Down there in that secluded spot, where there is plenty of tree cover, we have a small plot of 60 sq. metres of fenced off garden, where we have found that we can grow a lot of frost sensitive plants , like over-winter potatoes and they are doing well, even the nasturtiums are still blooming. I found some time, just before a wood fired raku workshop, to get down there and do some more weeding, so as to give the plants a chance. The weeds grow so quickly! The peas are flowering now and so are the broad beans. I think that we will soon get a feed of peas from these plants. The garlic is very varied, some plants are surging ahead, while others have stayed quite small. Perhaps this is their individual habits. I have planted seven new varieties of ‘seed’ garlic this year. All down in the pantry field, where we haven’t ever grown garlic previously. fresh varieties in fresh soil. The last two plaits of garlic hanging in the kitchen ceiling are now a bit withered and starting to ‘shoot’ , but still have a good garlic flavour. They aren’t so juicy any more.

I guess that it is because the weather is cold and the days short. I seem to want to eat more meat these few weeks, so I buy a few lamb shanks and make a nice rich sauce for them to simmer in. Brown onions in olive oil, a whole knob of our garlic and lots of herbs from the garden. I brown the shanks and then add a whole bottle of merlot and let it simmer very slowly over a low fire for a couple of hours with half a tub of my marrow bone stock concentrate.

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When we come back into the kitchen in the evening dusk. I open the door into the kitchen and the room immerses me, seduces me, envelops me, in a blanket of warmth and flavoursome aromas. Such a wonderful, warm, welcoming greeting. the light is fading. the wind is picking up, the temperature is falling, but we are warm and secure in here, in our own self-reliant environment. I add the fresh picked vegetables that we have brought in from the garden and let them mellow in to the stock, while we discuss the day and plan for tomorrow. I open a nice bottle of red wine and serve. Fantastic!
Cold weather outside? Who cares! Roll on, the winter.
Best wishes
from the EOFY stock maker and his stock-take girl

Delivering a Kiln, What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

A Kiln Delivery, What Could Possibly Go Wrong?
I have just finished another kiln for a customer. It’s a beautiful thing. There isn’t anyone capable of making anything like this in Australia any more. All the skills are gone. We are a country of importers of cheap junk these days. Everyone wants something for next to nothing, or even cheaper. This may sound rather jaundiced, but how else do you explain the rampant rise of Bunnings and Ikea, and all the other Chinese import companies. Power tools for $12 each, of course they are not going to last more than 10 minutes.
Note to self – don’t buy cheap plastic junk! I try and buy only things that I really need, and if I really do need it. I try to buy something of quality, that will last a very long time. I don’t throw things out until they are really worn out, and then I try to recycle them into something else if I can. Finally, if it is really organic and wholesome. There is always the compost heap or the metal recyclers if it isn’t?
This kiln is not just beautiful. It’s solid and gorgeous. I’m very proud of it. I spent a lot of time on it. It will last its owner for all of her life and then someone else’s as well.
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I do a lot of organising before I set out to deliver a kiln. If the site is close enough, I go there and check out the site myself, but if it is a long way off. I usually do all the organising by email. Images sent back and forth of driveways nd other access points. Measurements of gates and shed doors height and widths etc. I try to think of everything, but there is always some sort of surprise in store for me. You never know who will turn up to ā€œhelpā€! See ā€˜The Best Laid Plans’ posted on this blog on the 18th of March this year.
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We get started early. I use my friend Dave who has a big truck with a ā€˜Palfinger’ crane. He is a real gentleman and takes such a lot of care with everything that he does. I really trust him completely in matters of lifting heavy things. I shrink-wrap and load the kiln onto my truck the day before and then drive it up to the drive way near the road, where Dave’s big truck can get to, to lift it off my little truck and onto his, for the long trip to its new home.
Because we are so efficient, we arrive at the site a bit early and manage to reverse in through the narrow gates, then down to a spot quite close to the garden shed, where the kiln will be housed. The clients are there to greet us, as is the local tradesman who they have engaged to help us. The kiln comes off the truck and across the lawn and into the doorway of the shed without a hitch. Dave can manoeuvre the crane with a tonne hanging from it at a 13 metre distance to within 1 cm! It’s always astonishing tot me how much accuracy he has developed with this machine over the 30 years that he has been doing it. This is how it is all supposed to be. everything considered. However, you can never really know what the local drunk and the crazy neighbour will do when push come to shove. On this occasion, they are nowhere to be seen and everything goes as it should. Dave lowers the kiln across the lawn and down onto the kiln shed slab. He is so professional, carefull and accurate with that crane. The kiln is lowered down directly onto the pallet lifter in the shed, so that I can wheel the kiln into position without a hitch.
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We install the flue kit and seal the roof and we are all done. Everything sweet and precise, all done without a hitch. This is how it is supposed to be. What could possibly have gone wrong?
I’m home early and have time to do a bit of weeding in the garden, then a clean-up in the kiln shed ready for the next wood firing workshop.
Everything as it should be.
I’m gratefull!
So completely different from the last time.
Best wishes
Steve