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But that's a different platform
Jun. 1st, 2021 11:16 pmI"ve been selling a lot of $23-25 pots, of late, mostly mugs--which is why I glazed so many for the last firing--but also soup bowls, stew mugs, tumblers and glasses.
I usually don't need to make a lot of tumblers--I only started making them for the few people who'd pick up a tall mug, then be disappointed it had a handle. But I've had a bunch sell lately, which means I get to glaze some new ones. So this is my Tumbler post.
I usually don't need to make a lot of tumblers--I only started making them for the few people who'd pick up a tall mug, then be disappointed it had a handle. But I've had a bunch sell lately, which means I get to glaze some new ones. So this is my Tumbler post.
Mugging for the camera
May. 26th, 2021 10:58 pmGlazing again, aiming for a May 31 firing; that way, the kiln is cooling on June 1, which is our 30th wedding anniversary. No particular plans, I'm afraid. Denise has an infusion appointment that morning, delayed from Monday because of Memorial Day, so we can't really do a day trip. Think we'll go for a walk by Delta Ponds in the afternoon, pick up some take-out for supper. Oh, and I promised her cake.
So I'm on something of a tight schedule. We glazed banks together on Sunday, and I started in earnest on the rest Monday morning. I typically begin with the hard stuff--big bowls, special orders, teapots--but none of those were out of the bisque yet, and really, my biggest commitment in this firing is mugs.
I'm running out of tall mugs, again, have been selling painted mugs at Market too, and have two different mug special orders. So I start with fifty-some tall mugs (another dozen still need their bisque), go on to twenty-four painted mugs, and then the special orders.
Doing that many at a time gets tricky. I get bored doing all the same patterns--five octopus or four hummingbirds just about does me in--but thinking of new patterns that won't take forever--fifty mugs, remember--is hard, too. Painted mugs are easier. I've a standard list of patterns to choose from, and as it happens, I've sold exactly 24 since Market started, so I just make replacements.
The special orders are also decision-free: City of Eugene 5-year mugs, a list of twelve names. Pour, dip the rim, dip again in Dragon Green. Wipe any drips, then dip the bottom half, outside, in B.P. White. Allow to dry, then take my lettering brush and the cobalt carbonate, and personalize.
The other mug order is a little different. One of my long-time patrons saw the Instagram post with Great Harvest Bakery mugs, liked the shape, and ordered ten (without the logo stamp). The hardest part of this order is in throwing the new form; she sent along a list of patterns for the glazing.
At the end of the day, I'd glazed 102 mugs. Not bad for a Monday.
ETA: Actually, I only did 80 mugs on Monday; glazed the remaining 22 Tuesday morning. Memory's getting foggy with age, I guess.
So I'm on something of a tight schedule. We glazed banks together on Sunday, and I started in earnest on the rest Monday morning. I typically begin with the hard stuff--big bowls, special orders, teapots--but none of those were out of the bisque yet, and really, my biggest commitment in this firing is mugs.
I'm running out of tall mugs, again, have been selling painted mugs at Market too, and have two different mug special orders. So I start with fifty-some tall mugs (another dozen still need their bisque), go on to twenty-four painted mugs, and then the special orders.
Doing that many at a time gets tricky. I get bored doing all the same patterns--five octopus or four hummingbirds just about does me in--but thinking of new patterns that won't take forever--fifty mugs, remember--is hard, too. Painted mugs are easier. I've a standard list of patterns to choose from, and as it happens, I've sold exactly 24 since Market started, so I just make replacements.
The special orders are also decision-free: City of Eugene 5-year mugs, a list of twelve names. Pour, dip the rim, dip again in Dragon Green. Wipe any drips, then dip the bottom half, outside, in B.P. White. Allow to dry, then take my lettering brush and the cobalt carbonate, and personalize.
The other mug order is a little different. One of my long-time patrons saw the Instagram post with Great Harvest Bakery mugs, liked the shape, and ordered ten (without the logo stamp). The hardest part of this order is in throwing the new form; she sent along a list of patterns for the glazing.
At the end of the day, I'd glazed 102 mugs. Not bad for a Monday.
ETA: Actually, I only did 80 mugs on Monday; glazed the remaining 22 Tuesday morning. Memory's getting foggy with age, I guess.
Into the the Spider-verse
Mar. 21st, 2021 12:35 pmSpider plate! Spider plate!
Holds whatever a spider ate!
Yeah, maybe not.
I get the best commissions, sometimes. This from a friend from our Book Arts group, who wanted an eight-inch plate with Portia spider. Since there are over a dozen varieties, I had her pop me some images, which resulted in this handsome lass.
Holds whatever a spider ate!
Yeah, maybe not.
I get the best commissions, sometimes. This from a friend from our Book Arts group, who wanted an eight-inch plate with Portia spider. Since there are over a dozen varieties, I had her pop me some images, which resulted in this handsome lass.
By the pie
Mar. 18th, 2021 08:31 pmAlmost forgot to post the pie plates! Only did a dozen this time, more to fill kiln space than because I have great need for them. That said, they're a nice size to hold and paint, and berry season is not that far away, right?
Continuing to glaze; pie plates today, and big salad bowls, along with some special orders. The latter are heavily slanted toward pet pictures this time, including this lovely teapot (before and after coloring).
I also took an order for more divided plates (grandchild plates, I should call them), but only because I still had some stowed away as bisque. They're a nuisance to make, as the dividers want to crack if you don't lay them down at just the right moisture level. But they give me the opportunity to paint extra pictures.
And yes, that's also a custom cat food dish, with picture of venerable and grizzled tomcat.
And then there's the family portrait: two kitties and a golden retriever, an eight-pound serving bowl (my biggest size), bound for Minneapolis.
I love my job sometimes.
I also took an order for more divided plates (grandchild plates, I should call them), but only because I still had some stowed away as bisque. They're a nuisance to make, as the dividers want to crack if you don't lay them down at just the right moisture level. But they give me the opportunity to paint extra pictures.
And yes, that's also a custom cat food dish, with picture of venerable and grizzled tomcat.
And then there's the family portrait: two kitties and a golden retriever, an eight-pound serving bowl (my biggest size), bound for Minneapolis.
I love my job sometimes.
Mug shot Monday
Mar. 16th, 2021 08:22 pmPottery Instagram has a tag, #mugshotmonday, where you're supposed to post whatever mug you're working on, have just finished, are uploading to your Etsy... you get the picture. And the picture is of a mug or mugs. I don't often remember to post, but yesterday, I was spoiled for choice.
Yesterday, I glazed 60 tall mugs.
I'd nearly run out at Christmas (one box left in the van, none in the shed), so I put 40 in my late January firing, but between special orders and sales at Tsunami Books, a local independent bookstore, I'd gone through nearly all of them. So this time, I decided to really stock up. Sixty mugs is 75 lbs. of clay just in the throwing, probably another 10-12 for handles. Glazing them all in one day was a heck of a feat.
Today I followed with another 32 mugs, special order for Great Harvest Bakery. They ordered mugs for coffee service last February, then had to stop selling coffee when the lockdown went into effect. Instead, they've been selling them to staff and customers, and they've been moving well enough to spark a reorder.
And then there's these little cuties. A long-time customer contacted me about making 3.5-4 oz. espresso cups, without handles. I'd already fired my last bisque, but managed to fit them into someone else's firing over the weekend, so painted a whole bunch of birdies on them today.
Yesterday, I glazed 60 tall mugs.
I'd nearly run out at Christmas (one box left in the van, none in the shed), so I put 40 in my late January firing, but between special orders and sales at Tsunami Books, a local independent bookstore, I'd gone through nearly all of them. So this time, I decided to really stock up. Sixty mugs is 75 lbs. of clay just in the throwing, probably another 10-12 for handles. Glazing them all in one day was a heck of a feat.
Today I followed with another 32 mugs, special order for Great Harvest Bakery. They ordered mugs for coffee service last February, then had to stop selling coffee when the lockdown went into effect. Instead, they've been selling them to staff and customers, and they've been moving well enough to spark a reorder.
And then there's these little cuties. A long-time customer contacted me about making 3.5-4 oz. espresso cups, without handles. I'd already fired my last bisque, but managed to fit them into someone else's firing over the weekend, so painted a whole bunch of birdies on them today.
Midwinter is a good time to catch up on the more complicated items. The studio is consistently cool and damp, and pieces that have a lot of parts to put together can be assembled in a more leisurely fashion, as the pieces don't dry out so quickly. I spent Monday and Tuesday making banks.
At one point in my foolish youth, I had more than two dozen different kinds of animal banks, from pigs to penguins, whales and walruses. I also foolishly priced these high-labor, time-consuming items at a mere twenty bucks.
I really didn't value my time, back in the day.
Today, I've slimmed down the bank range to eight styles: pigs, elephants, hen and frog and cat, and three kinds of dinosaurs. I've raised the price--though $40 is probably still too low. But I've simplified some of the designs, and made a lot of specialized tools to help streamline the process of making them. I ran through a lot of pig and chicken banks during the holidays--for people bringing home the bacon, or starting their nest eggs--so that's what I made this week.
Piggy banks take a cork in the mouth to suggest a pig's flat snout. Corks are made in a variety of sizes, and initially, I'd just buy a variety and mix and match. It's a lot easier if I only have to get one consistent size, so I adapted a trick from my contract throwing days. I was making hummingbird feeders, which had to fit a specific size of stopper; Will provided a key-shaped rib to slide into the neck of the bottle to make the perfect width and taper. It was easy enough to size up the idea to a jumbo version, fit for an oversize cork.
While the wheel is turning, I slide the rib down just until the shoulders at the top engage with the lip. Result? A perfect match for a number 38 cork, sourced from the local home-brew supplier.
The chicken banks hide their stopper--or, as I call it to customers, "No penalty withdrawal"--underneath. I originally used a wooden cork there as well, but found rubber stoppers cheaper and less bulky. I still need to indent the bottom so the bank doesn't wobble on its stopper, so after I take them off the wheel, I set them over a bisqued hump mold, then poke a little hole to let some of the air out. This leaves a nice indent where I'll cut a hole the next day, when leather hard.
The bodies are then left uncovered overnight to firm up. I pinch and formed the add-on bits--beaks and tails, ears and feet--sitting on the sofa watching a Dr. Who DVD with Denise (The Runaway Bride, Catherine Tate is hilarious. I can see why they brought her back as a regular companion a year later.)
Tuesday morning, the pigs were still kinda sticky, but I was able to flip them over on their mouths to continue drying while I assemble the chickens. They'll be ready to handle by the time the chickens are finished. I add all the bits first: beak and eyebrow, feet, wing-tips, tail. When it's time to make cuts, I again use specialty tools: a home-made circle cutter that makes a hole that shrinks down perfectly to fit a number ten rubber stopper.
I also get out my dip-pen hole cutter to drill two small holes on the back of the head, which will be connected by knife cuts to form a neat, round-ended coin slot.
Once all the bits and bobs are attached, and the colored porcelain eyes, combs and wattles joined, I leave them uncovered to continue drying while I assemble the pigs.
It takes a solid two days work to make two dozen banks. Fortunately, I don't have to make them all that often.
At one point in my foolish youth, I had more than two dozen different kinds of animal banks, from pigs to penguins, whales and walruses. I also foolishly priced these high-labor, time-consuming items at a mere twenty bucks.
I really didn't value my time, back in the day.
Today, I've slimmed down the bank range to eight styles: pigs, elephants, hen and frog and cat, and three kinds of dinosaurs. I've raised the price--though $40 is probably still too low. But I've simplified some of the designs, and made a lot of specialized tools to help streamline the process of making them. I ran through a lot of pig and chicken banks during the holidays--for people bringing home the bacon, or starting their nest eggs--so that's what I made this week.
Piggy banks take a cork in the mouth to suggest a pig's flat snout. Corks are made in a variety of sizes, and initially, I'd just buy a variety and mix and match. It's a lot easier if I only have to get one consistent size, so I adapted a trick from my contract throwing days. I was making hummingbird feeders, which had to fit a specific size of stopper; Will provided a key-shaped rib to slide into the neck of the bottle to make the perfect width and taper. It was easy enough to size up the idea to a jumbo version, fit for an oversize cork.
While the wheel is turning, I slide the rib down just until the shoulders at the top engage with the lip. Result? A perfect match for a number 38 cork, sourced from the local home-brew supplier.
The chicken banks hide their stopper--or, as I call it to customers, "No penalty withdrawal"--underneath. I originally used a wooden cork there as well, but found rubber stoppers cheaper and less bulky. I still need to indent the bottom so the bank doesn't wobble on its stopper, so after I take them off the wheel, I set them over a bisqued hump mold, then poke a little hole to let some of the air out. This leaves a nice indent where I'll cut a hole the next day, when leather hard.
The bodies are then left uncovered overnight to firm up. I pinch and formed the add-on bits--beaks and tails, ears and feet--sitting on the sofa watching a Dr. Who DVD with Denise (The Runaway Bride, Catherine Tate is hilarious. I can see why they brought her back as a regular companion a year later.)
Tuesday morning, the pigs were still kinda sticky, but I was able to flip them over on their mouths to continue drying while I assemble the chickens. They'll be ready to handle by the time the chickens are finished. I add all the bits first: beak and eyebrow, feet, wing-tips, tail. When it's time to make cuts, I again use specialty tools: a home-made circle cutter that makes a hole that shrinks down perfectly to fit a number ten rubber stopper.
I also get out my dip-pen hole cutter to drill two small holes on the back of the head, which will be connected by knife cuts to form a neat, round-ended coin slot.
Once all the bits and bobs are attached, and the colored porcelain eyes, combs and wattles joined, I leave them uncovered to continue drying while I assemble the pigs.
It takes a solid two days work to make two dozen banks. Fortunately, I don't have to make them all that often.
I've been back in the studio this week, making work for a March firing. I've got some orders, in particular a dozen more mugs for Great Harvest Bakery, a teapot and a big serving bowl.
Now I just need to figure out what else to make.
Thing is, I'm pretty well set for the opening of Saturday Market in April. And my normal spring event, Ceramic Showcase, isn't happening. In fact, I don't know whether anything is happening. Some shows, notably Roseburg in June, Corvallis in September and Edmonds in August, are taking applications, but I don't know that I feel safe doing them. In the meantime, I've got 50 cubic feet of kiln space to fill, and not that many pots left over from my last firing.
I suppose I could see if anyone wants to share a firing, but I hate being responsible for a bad firing. It's bad enough if I mess up my pots; I'd really don't want to risk ruining someone else's.
I don't need to make any bowls for Empty Bowls--my storage unit is full of 'em from last year, and I don't know whether they're able to do a sale this year either. I'm a little low on animal banks, so I'll probably do a shelf of them. Then what?
So I suppose I should just be making big pots. These 6 and 8-lb. serving bowls are a start.
Now I just need to figure out what else to make.
Thing is, I'm pretty well set for the opening of Saturday Market in April. And my normal spring event, Ceramic Showcase, isn't happening. In fact, I don't know whether anything is happening. Some shows, notably Roseburg in June, Corvallis in September and Edmonds in August, are taking applications, but I don't know that I feel safe doing them. In the meantime, I've got 50 cubic feet of kiln space to fill, and not that many pots left over from my last firing.
I suppose I could see if anyone wants to share a firing, but I hate being responsible for a bad firing. It's bad enough if I mess up my pots; I'd really don't want to risk ruining someone else's.
I don't need to make any bowls for Empty Bowls--my storage unit is full of 'em from last year, and I don't know whether they're able to do a sale this year either. I'm a little low on animal banks, so I'll probably do a shelf of them. Then what?
So I suppose I should just be making big pots. These 6 and 8-lb. serving bowls are a start.
Colorizing
Jan. 24th, 2021 03:22 pmI love before-and-after images. People holding their puppies/Great Danes, modeling their new haircuts/cosplay/gender expressions. I just like the feeling of, "Oh, wow, that's changed."
So here's a before-and-after, glazing. I like the starkness of black-and-white line drawing, I admit, but I also like the "pop" of added color.
So here's a before-and-after, glazing. I like the starkness of black-and-white line drawing, I admit, but I also like the "pop" of added color.
Flourishing
Jan. 24th, 2021 01:54 pm
When I first started painting pots, I did a lot of flowers: Iris, daffodils, dandelions even. It was a struggle to sell them, really. Lots of people were painting flowers on pottery, and mine weren't particularly special.I was really fortunate that I started painting animals, chickens first, then elephants and cats and--well you know where that took me. And people liked them, bought them, and I enjoyed painting them.
And now, 28 years later, I'm getting requests for flowers again. Specific ones, this time: lupine, echinacea, Queen Anne's lace, poppies. I painted this set, posted them to Instagram, and promptly got an order for more, only could I paint a balloon flower instead of the lupine?
As it happens, I could, I'd done two each of the first four, and had an extra I could balloon on. But it makes me wonder: Has the tide of taste changed? Are flowers going to be in demand now? Will I have to stop painting bunnies?
Probably not. And I'm not likely to start putting flowers out on the shelf at Saturday Market, at least not regularly. But I gotta admit, it was fun to try something different again. And I paint them a lot better than I did all those years ago.
Potters on Instagram have a recurring hashtag, #mugshotmonday. I'd love to participate, but I keep forgetting to take some mug photos, and suddenly, it's Monday again.Well, it happens I started a new glazing cycle this morning, and opened up with mugs. Forty tall mugs, again--they've been so popular--plus fifteen city of Eugene 5-year employee mugs. (Yeah, it's a lot of glazing, but it keeps me from doomscrolling the internet.) And for once, I get to participate in Mug Shot Monday.
I have some fairly amazing special orders this time out. Pandas and sloths I've done before, but tarsiers? Who the heck asks for a tarsier? Or an orangutan? (Presumably, a primatologist.) It's a good thing I've got a reliable orange stain.
The kitty's not an order for anyone. I just think she's pretty.
The remains of the glaze
Nov. 6th, 2020 03:57 pmMore pots from the latest glazing cycle, loading into the kiln Sunday. It's been a busy week at Club Mud, everybody jockeying for space as we prepare for the holiday season. I'd a bunch of dinner plate orders, from three different customers; here's a representative sample.
I once again took on a new pattern: a Northern Saw-Whet Owl, aka the second cutest damn thing in feathers. (I'm sorry, a potoo will always be first.) She wants a tall mug. Being me, I did three, plus a dessert plate, and wound up painting one on a glaze test as well.
The glaze test was because we'd gotten a donation of raw materials from a closing studio. This happens fairly frequently, and our supplies person usually just dumps them into the appropriate bin or bucket. This time, though, she was a little suspicious.
The bag in question was marked "Talc," fifty pounds of fine white powder. The problem is, the talc we usually source from Georgies is a dark grey. It could be fine, different deposit, same composition; but once, it... wasn't.
We'd gotten a bag of white talc from another donor, dumped it in the bin, and I mixed up a 7000-gram batch of my base white glaze. Used it on half of the pots in my next firing, all of which came out brown and matte, rather than cream/white gloss.
As far as we could tell, the material was whiting--calcium carbonate--rather than talc--a magnesium silicate. I had to trash a bunch of pots, was about to throw away the glaze, but Jon though he could use it, so I gave it to him. But you can see why I'm leery of off-color talc.
So I mixed up a 100-gram batch to test. The only thing I had to try it on was a bisqued wall-art tile, and it seemed a shame to leave it undecorated.
I once again took on a new pattern: a Northern Saw-Whet Owl, aka the second cutest damn thing in feathers. (I'm sorry, a potoo will always be first.) She wants a tall mug. Being me, I did three, plus a dessert plate, and wound up painting one on a glaze test as well.
The glaze test was because we'd gotten a donation of raw materials from a closing studio. This happens fairly frequently, and our supplies person usually just dumps them into the appropriate bin or bucket. This time, though, she was a little suspicious.
The bag in question was marked "Talc," fifty pounds of fine white powder. The problem is, the talc we usually source from Georgies is a dark grey. It could be fine, different deposit, same composition; but once, it... wasn't.
We'd gotten a bag of white talc from another donor, dumped it in the bin, and I mixed up a 7000-gram batch of my base white glaze. Used it on half of the pots in my next firing, all of which came out brown and matte, rather than cream/white gloss.
As far as we could tell, the material was whiting--calcium carbonate--rather than talc--a magnesium silicate. I had to trash a bunch of pots, was about to throw away the glaze, but Jon though he could use it, so I gave it to him. But you can see why I'm leery of off-color talc.
So I mixed up a 100-gram batch to test. The only thing I had to try it on was a bisqued wall-art tile, and it seemed a shame to leave it undecorated.
Pastabilities
Nov. 1st, 2020 07:03 amI started another glazing cycle Friday. Once again, it's a little weird.
In a normal year, I'd be recovering and restocking from Clay Fest, getting ready for Clayfolk (my biggest show of the year), with a little left over to begin Holiday Market. Stock would be perilously low, and I'd be focusing on what to replace.
This year? Not so much. Sales have been good at Market, and I find I need to replace cookie jars, teapots, a platter. (And tall mugs. So many tall mugs.) But there was no Clay Fest, will be no Clayfolk, and Holiday Market is severely reduced: five Saturdays, 10 am-3 pm, outdoors on the Park Blocks. So how much stock I'll need, and what, is unknown.
Fortunately, Childhood's End Gallery came through with a moderate-sized order, so I can start with work for them. Tall mugs--who'd have guessed?--and pasta bowls were the bulk of the order. So Friday, I started with pastas.
It's always fun to start with big drawings. I'm also breaking in a new black line brush (tip had worn down on the old one), and it seems to be working very well.
In a normal year, I'd be recovering and restocking from Clay Fest, getting ready for Clayfolk (my biggest show of the year), with a little left over to begin Holiday Market. Stock would be perilously low, and I'd be focusing on what to replace.
This year? Not so much. Sales have been good at Market, and I find I need to replace cookie jars, teapots, a platter. (And tall mugs. So many tall mugs.) But there was no Clay Fest, will be no Clayfolk, and Holiday Market is severely reduced: five Saturdays, 10 am-3 pm, outdoors on the Park Blocks. So how much stock I'll need, and what, is unknown.
Fortunately, Childhood's End Gallery came through with a moderate-sized order, so I can start with work for them. Tall mugs--who'd have guessed?--and pasta bowls were the bulk of the order. So Friday, I started with pastas.
It's always fun to start with big drawings. I'm also breaking in a new black line brush (tip had worn down on the old one), and it seems to be working very well.
Short and stout
Oct. 29th, 2020 10:12 amAssembling teapots for the end of the production run. Sold one at Market recently, which reminded me that I do usually sell a few at the holidays, and I only had three left (four, if you include the oversized one. My normal teapot holds four cups; got a special order for two six-cup models, and have one left over).
The one good thing about working in fall is that nothing dries too fast; the body stays leather hard, the spout doesn't get crispy. I did have to put the lids out in the breeze and sun for an hour, to get them dry enough to trim, but that was just long enough to assemble the rest of the pot.
Note the use of a couple of my favorite tools, below: a hole-maker that's dip pen with the nib reversed, a cheese cutter with the roller removed, used to trim the base of the spout to size and shape, and a paper template dropped in the gallery, allowing me to line up the handle with the spout. Before I learned that trick from Ellen Currans, my handles were always a little wonky.
Once the lids had finally set up, I could pop them in the Giffin Grip, trim them smooth and round, then attach a lump of clay, center it, and throw a knob on top. I've got a little metal tool, about the size and shape of a putty knife blade pulled out of its handle, that I use to form and finish all my knobs. The last step is to drill a little hole in the lid, to allow air in as the tea pours out (otherwise, it'll glurp). Since I want a smaller hole, I use a bit of broken umbrella spine, ground sharp. (What do you call a broken umbrella? Un-brella?)
The one good thing about working in fall is that nothing dries too fast; the body stays leather hard, the spout doesn't get crispy. I did have to put the lids out in the breeze and sun for an hour, to get them dry enough to trim, but that was just long enough to assemble the rest of the pot.
Note the use of a couple of my favorite tools, below: a hole-maker that's dip pen with the nib reversed, a cheese cutter with the roller removed, used to trim the base of the spout to size and shape, and a paper template dropped in the gallery, allowing me to line up the handle with the spout. Before I learned that trick from Ellen Currans, my handles were always a little wonky.
Once the lids had finally set up, I could pop them in the Giffin Grip, trim them smooth and round, then attach a lump of clay, center it, and throw a knob on top. I've got a little metal tool, about the size and shape of a putty knife blade pulled out of its handle, that I use to form and finish all my knobs. The last step is to drill a little hole in the lid, to allow air in as the tea pours out (otherwise, it'll glurp). Since I want a smaller hole, I use a bit of broken umbrella spine, ground sharp. (What do you call a broken umbrella? Un-brella?)
The penultimate bisque firing for this production run shut off at 8 this morning. The final load of pots is taking advantage of the warm studio and very warm kiln lid to get everything dry enough to safely fire, always an issue in fall.
I've actually timed things rather well, this cycle. I was able to pace myself, only throw fifty-ish pounds of clay a day, even take Sundays off. Partly, this is because I've got less demand--no Clay Fest, Clayfolk to stock--and partly because I've more actual days--two extra Saturdays that I'm not at Market, whole weeks of no Fall Fest, Clay Fest. It's oddly relaxed, and my adrenal glands don't know what to make of it.
Take today: I've made everything on my throwing list, even throwing in a few extras--a dozen more tall mugs, a couple of teapots, a few cat food dishes, just to finish off the bag. But my brain is still fussing--You could throw plates! You only made a dozen! (Never mind that there's twenty or thirty on the shelves at Club Mud, already glazed). I'm just not used to this schedule.
There's also a certain amount of uncertainty involved. One of my galleries has committed to an order, but I haven't heard anything from the other. I think they're still only open three days a week, and I can't tell whether they're going to reimagine their Annual Artist's Event (which usually runs from mid-November through December) or just cancel it outright. Add the fact that Holiday Market is only five selling days, and I wind up with no clue what to make, what will sell.
Oh well, I guess I'll spend the day catching up on other projects. Repack the squeaky front bearing on my trike. Sew another face mask. Make a new paint brush.
Post to my blog.
I've not been good at words, lately; just lots of pictures, which are going to my Instagram. Here's a visual review of the last week or two.
I was down to five boxes of clay at the beginning of the week; checking my list of things-yet-to-throw, I estimated it'd be just enough to get me to the end. So of course, I placed an order with my supplier. Now I have a ton plus two boxes (2100 lbs.) cluttering up the studio. In my defense, the last time I ordered clay--in, oh, February--it took them two weeks to deliver, so I was understandably a little concerned.
I've actually timed things rather well, this cycle. I was able to pace myself, only throw fifty-ish pounds of clay a day, even take Sundays off. Partly, this is because I've got less demand--no Clay Fest, Clayfolk to stock--and partly because I've more actual days--two extra Saturdays that I'm not at Market, whole weeks of no Fall Fest, Clay Fest. It's oddly relaxed, and my adrenal glands don't know what to make of it.
Take today: I've made everything on my throwing list, even throwing in a few extras--a dozen more tall mugs, a couple of teapots, a few cat food dishes, just to finish off the bag. But my brain is still fussing--You could throw plates! You only made a dozen! (Never mind that there's twenty or thirty on the shelves at Club Mud, already glazed). I'm just not used to this schedule.
There's also a certain amount of uncertainty involved. One of my galleries has committed to an order, but I haven't heard anything from the other. I think they're still only open three days a week, and I can't tell whether they're going to reimagine their Annual Artist's Event (which usually runs from mid-November through December) or just cancel it outright. Add the fact that Holiday Market is only five selling days, and I wind up with no clue what to make, what will sell.
Oh well, I guess I'll spend the day catching up on other projects. Repack the squeaky front bearing on my trike. Sew another face mask. Make a new paint brush.
Post to my blog.
I've not been good at words, lately; just lots of pictures, which are going to my Instagram. Here's a visual review of the last week or two.
I was down to five boxes of clay at the beginning of the week; checking my list of things-yet-to-throw, I estimated it'd be just enough to get me to the end. So of course, I placed an order with my supplier. Now I have a ton plus two boxes (2100 lbs.) cluttering up the studio. In my defense, the last time I ordered clay--in, oh, February--it took them two weeks to deliver, so I was understandably a little concerned.
Tall mugs continue to lead the sales at Saturday Market, to the point where I worry that the forty I've already made won't be enough. So here's another dozen, along with twelve of the oddly less-popular painted mugs.
My thesis advisor in grad school was a potter-turned-sculptor, who specialized in found object constructions. They were always made of multiple items, arranged in arrays. You give me one of anything, I'm not interested, he said. But a whole bunch, all alike? I love that s--t! I think of him, sometimes, looking at ware boards or loading kilns.
Somethings I make don't sell all that well during the year, but sometimes do at Christmas. I keep making them in part because I think the design is so cool--gravy boats, for example. I love the form, love making them. They're big enough to hold a serious amount of gravy, can be used to pour or ladle. And they just look good. It's coming up on the Turkey-and-Gravy season, so maybe I can send some of these home.
My thesis advisor in grad school was a potter-turned-sculptor, who specialized in found object constructions. They were always made of multiple items, arranged in arrays. You give me one of anything, I'm not interested, he said. But a whole bunch, all alike? I love that s--t! I think of him, sometimes, looking at ware boards or loading kilns.
Somethings I make don't sell all that well during the year, but sometimes do at Christmas. I keep making them in part because I think the design is so cool--gravy boats, for example. I love the form, love making them. They're big enough to hold a serious amount of gravy, can be used to pour or ladle. And they just look good. It's coming up on the Turkey-and-Gravy season, so maybe I can send some of these home.
So this couple comes into my booth at Market, last month. He's looking for small bowls, smaller even than my toddler bowls, though he buys one, but commissions another with a narrower rim. Russian name, noticeable accent. His wife also has an accent, though hers seems to be Chinese or Japanese. She's looking for something entirely different: a steamer basket to fit into the crock of her electric something-or-other.
As near as I understand her description it's an electric base that heats a crock, into which one can insert a covered bowl, which is pierced in four places, just under the rim. Steam comes in, cooks contents, presto delicious! I tell her about the steamers my professor used to make in Wisconsin, kinda like a bundt pan with a lid--steam comes in the central column. Oh, that's the old-fashioned kind, she says, this is what we use now days.
She could order one from China, but then she'd have to pay shipping, and maybe it wouldn't come at all because COVID, and thought she'd see if she could get one made locally. I say if she could email me a picture, dimensions, I'd see what I could do.
I really should know better than to say these things.
She does one better, comes back in mid-afternoon with the crock section of her utensil, tries fitting different pots into it--casseroles, batter bowls. We finally decide something like a covered batter bowl, large size, might work. No lip, she emphasizes, no handle. I say I understand, trace the lid and measure the depth of her crock with a piece of wrapping paper.
Here's what I've come up with, and I think it will work. Seems to match all the dimensions she gave me. I'm cautiously optimistic.
As near as I understand her description it's an electric base that heats a crock, into which one can insert a covered bowl, which is pierced in four places, just under the rim. Steam comes in, cooks contents, presto delicious! I tell her about the steamers my professor used to make in Wisconsin, kinda like a bundt pan with a lid--steam comes in the central column. Oh, that's the old-fashioned kind, she says, this is what we use now days.
She could order one from China, but then she'd have to pay shipping, and maybe it wouldn't come at all because COVID, and thought she'd see if she could get one made locally. I say if she could email me a picture, dimensions, I'd see what I could do.
I really should know better than to say these things.
She does one better, comes back in mid-afternoon with the crock section of her utensil, tries fitting different pots into it--casseroles, batter bowls. We finally decide something like a covered batter bowl, large size, might work. No lip, she emphasizes, no handle. I say I understand, trace the lid and measure the depth of her crock with a piece of wrapping paper.
Here's what I've come up with, and I think it will work. Seems to match all the dimensions she gave me. I'm cautiously optimistic.
It's been a long time since I've shared a firing; probably back to the first few times I'd fired the big (50 cubic-foot) kiln. I'd started using the small kiln, 24 cubic-foot, and one firing I realized I had more than twice the pots I could fit in. Normally, the big kiln fires a 6-shelf footprint, but it's possible to load with four, so that's what I did. The firing turned out well, and the cost per pot was enough less that I decided to keep using it.
That's also about the time I started entering more retail fairs, and selling more pots, so fairly soon, I needed to fill every cubic foot to keep up with demand. And it was nice to be in total control of the firing, running things to suit my work and nobody else's. (About this time, Tea grabbed a few of my bowls to fill out one of his kilns, and the results were, shall we say, not ideal.)
So for the last decade, I've been firing my own stuff, with the occasional test tile from Jon or Annie thrown in.
Enter the global-f**king-pandemic.
All my shows are cancelled, Saturday Market every second week--if that--galleries not reordering. I needed to fire a kiln, to restock what was selling, and cover a few special orders. But I really didn't need more pots to put in the shed.
Meanwhile, Club Mud has been doing a complete teardown and rebuild of the smaller gas kiln. They took it down to the ground, redesigned and rebuilt. Now it's just waiting on burners (an epic in itself) and a door.
The old kiln didn't have a door. It had a doorway, through which you loaded pots and shelves. But to close and fire, you just stacked up bricks until it was full, remembering to leave ports to check the cones. It was a laborious process, often taking more time than loading itself, and there never seemed to be exactly the right-sized brick to fill a given gap. So bricks got cut to fit, meaning more smaller bricks, more time needed the next time. The users decided if we were rebuilding the kiln, we needed a proper, hinged door.
They're still figuring out the door. (I'm staying out of it.) And the projected finishing date keeps getting set back, from early September, to late September, to late October.
So anyone who needs a firing in the small kiln is either on hold, or looking for other options.
Look! An option.
This is Linda. She grows plants and sells plants, planters, and the usual mugs/bowls/plates at Saturday Market. She had enough work to fill the small kiln; about a third of the big kiln.
I could easily make enough to fill two-thirds. So we're sharing a firing.
It was weird, loading a kiln with someone who isn't Denise. She's a little to eager to help, I have to tell her when to slow down and let me think. Tell her when to stop bringing pots and look for posts instead. But we worked out a good rhythm, got the kiln loaded even a little faster than usual. And it was nice having some different sized pots, things that could fit in between and around my standard sizes. Made the load a little more efficient, in the end.
I did the firing myself, as she doesn't have a schedule for this kiln. It was a little fussy, cool on the bottom, though that shouldn't affect the pots we loaded there. It's cooling now, will unload tomorrow. Hope for the best.
That's also about the time I started entering more retail fairs, and selling more pots, so fairly soon, I needed to fill every cubic foot to keep up with demand. And it was nice to be in total control of the firing, running things to suit my work and nobody else's. (About this time, Tea grabbed a few of my bowls to fill out one of his kilns, and the results were, shall we say, not ideal.)
So for the last decade, I've been firing my own stuff, with the occasional test tile from Jon or Annie thrown in.
Enter the global-f**king-pandemic.
All my shows are cancelled, Saturday Market every second week--if that--galleries not reordering. I needed to fire a kiln, to restock what was selling, and cover a few special orders. But I really didn't need more pots to put in the shed.
Meanwhile, Club Mud has been doing a complete teardown and rebuild of the smaller gas kiln. They took it down to the ground, redesigned and rebuilt. Now it's just waiting on burners (an epic in itself) and a door.
The old kiln didn't have a door. It had a doorway, through which you loaded pots and shelves. But to close and fire, you just stacked up bricks until it was full, remembering to leave ports to check the cones. It was a laborious process, often taking more time than loading itself, and there never seemed to be exactly the right-sized brick to fill a given gap. So bricks got cut to fit, meaning more smaller bricks, more time needed the next time. The users decided if we were rebuilding the kiln, we needed a proper, hinged door.
They're still figuring out the door. (I'm staying out of it.) And the projected finishing date keeps getting set back, from early September, to late September, to late October.
So anyone who needs a firing in the small kiln is either on hold, or looking for other options.
Look! An option.
This is Linda. She grows plants and sells plants, planters, and the usual mugs/bowls/plates at Saturday Market. She had enough work to fill the small kiln; about a third of the big kiln.
I could easily make enough to fill two-thirds. So we're sharing a firing.
It was weird, loading a kiln with someone who isn't Denise. She's a little to eager to help, I have to tell her when to slow down and let me think. Tell her when to stop bringing pots and look for posts instead. But we worked out a good rhythm, got the kiln loaded even a little faster than usual. And it was nice having some different sized pots, things that could fit in between and around my standard sizes. Made the load a little more efficient, in the end.
I did the firing myself, as she doesn't have a schedule for this kiln. It was a little fussy, cool on the bottom, though that shouldn't affect the pots we loaded there. It's cooling now, will unload tomorrow. Hope for the best.
Sharing the load
Sep. 24th, 2020 07:06 pmThere's not a lot of my job I can delegate. I throw all the pots, trim all the pots, load and fire kilns, glaze and paint pots. I suppose I could hire someone and teach them to throw my forms--that's how I got my start as a professional potter, after all. Teach them to load bisque kilns, recycle clay.
But I've never really wanted a pottery factory. Never wanted the responsibility, or the risk of growing a one-potter shop into a corporation. I just read an article in the new Ceramics Monthly about a potter who went that route, after apprenticing with English potters and following their example. Her pottery has been going for twenty years, brings in a substantial income every year, and still struggles to break even.
One thing I did manage to delegate, though: glazing dragons.
I've been making incense dragons almost as long as I've been Off Center Ceramics. They're wheel-thrown as a bottle form, with hand-built additions. Cut, drilled, sanded, dried. They're extremely fussy to glaze, but they don't take talent, like the hand-painted pots. Just a steady hand, patience, and attention to detail.
Things Denise excels at. So a long time ago, I taught her how to glaze dragons. How to hot-wax the base, and the bottom of the body section. How to dip the heads in clear glaze, and paint liquid wax resist over the eyes and on the edges where the paraffin doesn't reach. How to dip the body in one color, over-dip the head in another. Carefully sponge away drops of excess glaze, clean up seams and air holes, and transfer them to the shelf.
She's very good at it, by now. Oh, I could probably still glaze them a little faster, I suppose. But it's not a race; it's an gift, an opportunity for me to glaze something else entirely while she gets a chance to help out.
And I'm so grateful.
But I've never really wanted a pottery factory. Never wanted the responsibility, or the risk of growing a one-potter shop into a corporation. I just read an article in the new Ceramics Monthly about a potter who went that route, after apprenticing with English potters and following their example. Her pottery has been going for twenty years, brings in a substantial income every year, and still struggles to break even.
One thing I did manage to delegate, though: glazing dragons.
I've been making incense dragons almost as long as I've been Off Center Ceramics. They're wheel-thrown as a bottle form, with hand-built additions. Cut, drilled, sanded, dried. They're extremely fussy to glaze, but they don't take talent, like the hand-painted pots. Just a steady hand, patience, and attention to detail.
Things Denise excels at. So a long time ago, I taught her how to glaze dragons. How to hot-wax the base, and the bottom of the body section. How to dip the heads in clear glaze, and paint liquid wax resist over the eyes and on the edges where the paraffin doesn't reach. How to dip the body in one color, over-dip the head in another. Carefully sponge away drops of excess glaze, clean up seams and air holes, and transfer them to the shelf.
She's very good at it, by now. Oh, I could probably still glaze them a little faster, I suppose. But it's not a race; it's an gift, an opportunity for me to glaze something else entirely while she gets a chance to help out.
And I'm so grateful.
