thus having prepared their buds

against a sure winter

the wise trees

stand sleeping in the cold

William Carlos Williams

 Indeed it is still winter and Journey Clay studio is cold.  Even with the heaters going, the walls and floor hold the cold.  On my walk from the house and looking out the window--indeed, looking out in every direction-- I see the winter trees.  Their graceful skeletons inspired me to begin a series of Winter Trees in clay; quite a departure from my usual functional work.  So far, they are tall, slender and subtly gestural; and they are bare. 

I am making my winter trees from textured slabs of red stoneware.  Fired to ^6, I have been experimenting with a number of surface treatments including underglaze, layering glazes, and a lichen glaze.  I am not sure what will become of them, but they are a record of my first winter in my studio.

Winter Tree, unglazed, 16" tall

Winter Tree, 15" tall

Raku kin firing

It is snowing and cold and snowing and cold, and my studio is freezing even with the heaters on.  I am looking out of the window at the Western Pennsylvania countryside.  How could I have forgotten how little the sun shines here in the winter?  As a child, I don't recall too much about the relative quantity or quality of the outdoor light.  I just remember being outside a lot, particularly on snowy days, exploring the hills and woods.  Drawing on my extensive reading and equally extensive imagination, I would construct fanciful histories of who and what might have come before me to this place where I lived.  My home place became informed by a constructed past, a present, and a promise of the future.  I imagined, for instance, as I explored the woods, the people who might have walked that hillside decades or centuries before me: native people or maybe John Chapman (Johnny Appleseed,) one of my folk heros at the time. Conversely, I thought that perhaps, just once, I might be the first human to plant my foot on a particular six square inches of the earth's surface.  How great is that??  Last time, I left you with the thought that "the sign of a creative feeling for life dwells within the act itself" (M.C. Richards.)  I think in those days I was surely lost in the creative act.  As a little kid I searched these hills for all things profound.

Simple vase form, raku fired

But now I just want to get my business done.  I thought this might be perfect raku weather.

What we here and now call raku is a technique of low firing and rapid cooling of ware.  The resulting vessels are not terribly utilitarian, but can be stunningly lovely (or not.)   Raku, for me, illustrates the concept of creativity residing in action, not the product.  It is all about the act.  The fire, the smoke, the numerous variables remind one that a high degree of control is an illusion.  To be successful you must dwell in the act.  Of course, so much about pottery work is like that, but the immediacy of raku really drives the point home.

Oh, and here is something else that benefits from low firing and rapid cooling--and that is all about process!