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Sneak peek
Feb. 8th, 2017 08:38 pmI never worry about my firings the day after. During? Lord, yes, constantly. It's all I can do to keep from fussing with the burner and damper settings, peeking in the chimney to assess the flames and thus reduction levels.
Immediately after I shut off the kiln, I'm done. I've done everything I can to make the firing right, I'm exhausted, and so I go home, have a (usually late) supper, and go to bed.
The next day is cooling day. I don't even go down to the studio; I catch up with dishes, work in the office, maybe clean the studio. Run errands, buy groceries, read a lot. Basically, I'm catching up on all the stuff I put off dealing with while I was throwing, glazing and firing. This time? Started my taxes.
The third day is when I start worrying again. That's when I'll have anxiety dreams, wake up too early, not be able to sleep again. After all, I've just put all my eggs into a not-too-predictable 50 cubic-foot basket, and today's the day I find out if I dropped it.
If there's someone answering the phone at Club Mud, I'll have them start cooling the kiln: open the peep holes and burner ports, strip the fiber off the door jambs, crack open the damper. It saves me an extra trip to the studio, but I'm not sure it's worth it. Because I'm still stressing.
This morning, nobody answered, so I drove down to the studio to start the cooling myself. And took along a flashlight, to check out the pots visible from the peep holes. They look good, top and bottom: nice warm color, but not too brown. Iron speckles. No oxidation in sight. Bottom is a little cooler than the top, but still within the tolerances of my glaze.
And just like that, the stress evaporates. I'm still eager to open the door, unload all the pots, but I'm not worried anymore. It's the uncertainty that kills me. Even knowing it's not good is easier than not knowing at all.
Immediately after I shut off the kiln, I'm done. I've done everything I can to make the firing right, I'm exhausted, and so I go home, have a (usually late) supper, and go to bed.
The next day is cooling day. I don't even go down to the studio; I catch up with dishes, work in the office, maybe clean the studio. Run errands, buy groceries, read a lot. Basically, I'm catching up on all the stuff I put off dealing with while I was throwing, glazing and firing. This time? Started my taxes.
The third day is when I start worrying again. That's when I'll have anxiety dreams, wake up too early, not be able to sleep again. After all, I've just put all my eggs into a not-too-predictable 50 cubic-foot basket, and today's the day I find out if I dropped it.
If there's someone answering the phone at Club Mud, I'll have them start cooling the kiln: open the peep holes and burner ports, strip the fiber off the door jambs, crack open the damper. It saves me an extra trip to the studio, but I'm not sure it's worth it. Because I'm still stressing.
This morning, nobody answered, so I drove down to the studio to start the cooling myself. And took along a flashlight, to check out the pots visible from the peep holes. They look good, top and bottom: nice warm color, but not too brown. Iron speckles. No oxidation in sight. Bottom is a little cooler than the top, but still within the tolerances of my glaze.
And just like that, the stress evaporates. I'm still eager to open the door, unload all the pots, but I'm not worried anymore. It's the uncertainty that kills me. Even knowing it's not good is easier than not knowing at all.