pottery. art, craft and atomic weight

I used to do pottery.
In fact, I used to be a potter. A full year full time course in Derry, learning from the eminent renaissance man, Brian McGee, and I worked for a while as a production thrower. We build and fired electric, gas, raku and wood kilns, nearly blew up the building, made a mess of glazes; getting our heads around molecular calculations, triaxial blends and the fundamentals: the periodic table and the building-blocks of the planet. Everything under your feet.

And still getting bizarre things out of the kilns. Always a surprise, never a boring day. I made a mess of unwilling lumps of clay, and one day suddenly something clicked, and hands, heart and mind worked together. Throwing is a strange thing – some days I couldn’t even center, other days it was all a doddle. It is a sensual, earthy, deeply touchy-feely thing that seems to reflect moods, and ideally you should chose the task fitting the day. Clay is great material, and working with the elements is deeply satisfying. You create from earth.

The kiln fires the gooey, soft, sensual clay into stone; it is a non-reversible process, and the object dies a little for me – I tend to lose interest in the finished product. It is the clay part of the process, and firing kilns that attracts me. The transformation is total, the pot will never leave earth, it cannot be broken down to the original materials. Ages hence, my pottery shards will still be around. Longevity. Infinity. A mindblowing thought – and one that (should) keeps potters constantly reminded to not fire substandard pots in the first place. We won’t get rid of them.

The few pots that lives for me, have that magic all potters hunt for: that perfect, perfect balance of shape, texture and colour.

It sounds simple. It is impossible. It is chasing stars and fog. It is processes with so many uncontrollable variables you cannot do anything else but expect the unexpected. To make it really easy for myself, I fell in love with the microcrystalline glazes. The initiated will laugh at this. Microcrystallines will keep you pulling out your hair for the rest of your life. It will ruin the kiln shelves, it will stick, run, be too thin, too thick; the pot too high, thick, thin, small. The kiln fires too evenly, not evenly enough, there will be tiny variations in the core temperature, there will be a draught. When they work, they are gorgeous, though. From a full kiln, I’d be extraordinary happy to get one single pot that lives.

There is a virtue in it too, to control what you can, and then be able to leave yourself at the mercy of chance. Passing that point, imposing will is not so important anymore.

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There is not a lot of photos from this period in my life. Fine electronics do not go well with clay, dust, glazes and blazing kilns.
But memories are good too.


microcrystalline green tea bowl


microcrystalline blue glaze – “purple perhaps”

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newly thrown plates, before turning

the dead fish is my stamp, id and trademark

I was never big on moulding and modelling, but Gregory is always nearby

googly espresso mugs

I was never a fan of symmetry. Throwing wobbly pots is in fact incredibly difficult