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Instructions
The sound of an entire stack of pots falling over in a wood kiln at peak temperature isn’t as bad as you’d think. There’s no loud crash. Instead it’s a low, hollow sound dulled by the sticky, pyroplastic nature of clay at 2350°F (1288°C). Imagine in the next room over, there’s a big table full of soft, freshly thrown pots. Pretend those pots are covered in honey. Now place an ear against the door and listen as someone tips the table over, sending the whole sticky mess tumbling to the floor.
I heard that sound while standing right next to the kiln, a 25-foot-long anagama that leads into a catenary arch chamber we use for salt glazing. I grabbed a welding mask and opened the door to the small secondary firebox to inspect the kiln, but all I could see were thick, hazy flames. I stood up to look over the arch at Paul Herman, who had been working on the opposite side. “I can’t stoke,” he said, “there’s a shelf in the way.” I looked back into the kiln, squinting through the mask. As the atmosphere began to clear, I could make out a jumble of lines and forms where there should have been an empty space above the firebox. My stomach sank and any hope that the sound was a minor mishap went with it. Joe Winter, who had been masterfully tending the main firebox, was standing behind me now. I handed him the mask so he could see for himself what a mess we had made in there.
There wasn’t a great deal of discussion after looking in. We knew we had lost a whole stack and we knew why. About ⅔ of the way up that set of shelves, we had offset a kiln post a few inches, transferring the weight from above onto the shelf directly, rather than the column of posts below. That shelf, after being subjected to this treatment many times over, could no longer bear the strain. When it broke, everything resting on it came tumbling down. We knew this arrangement wasn’t ideal, but we’re a frugal bunch—resourceful, inventive, and improvisational—sometimes to a fault. Our bargain shelves have been collected, cut, and cobbled together over the years (1). Sometimes when you spend less, you get less-than-perfect equipment. Our unconventional stacking had worked for 36 firings. This time it didn’t.
We had to think fast. With the kiln close to our target temperature, we decided to close up the anagama section and move onto the salt chamber. Joe and I sealed up the front of the kiln while the rest of the crew moved fuel and prepared for an early finish. Paul positioned himself above the chimney to call the stokes. It was a swift, quiet commotion and we didn’t miss a beat. We finished the evening off like we usually do, with salt and celebration. After getting the last pots up to temperature and introducing 25 pounds of modern civilizations’ most taken-for-granted spice, we sealed up the kiln, filled our ceramic cups with whiskey, and ate homemade apple pie.
Stacking for Stability
Lessons Learned
Four days later when we gathered to unload, I found myself in an inexplicably good mood. It was a beautiful day, and our firing crew and friends were anxious to see the results. We watched gem after gem come out of the kiln, our best results in years. Finally we came to the toppled stack (2) and everyone took turns climbing in to see. We took photos of the squished pots and admired the grotesque beauty of the wreckage (3). As I watched everyone process the results, I realized my biggest fear was assuaged, nobody was upset. Sure, we lost some pots, but we all showed up that day ready to learn from the loss.
Excerpted from the Jan/Feb 2019 issue of Pottery Making Illustrated.
Recipe Topics
Clay Bodies and Casting Slips
Low Fire (Cone 022 – 01)
Mid Range (Cone 1 – 7)
High Fire (Cone 8 – 14)
Raku
Salt, Soda, and Wood
Slip, Engobe, and Terra Sigillata
Reference
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