As a measure of how antsy I get when I’m firing, I can actually can hear the kiln sitter go off in the dead of night… while I’m asleep... one story up. For anyone not familiar with the sound… it’s a mere click… that’s it. For me, it’s a Pavlovian sound that triggers a salivary anticipation reflex. I’m desperately hooked on seeing what happens when I mash-up a few weeks of effort in the studio and a day or 2 of experimental chaos. 
It’s really a great mix when everything works…
(Bad picture, amazing glaze!)
Most of this kiln load looked spectacular coming out of the kiln, but the plan was for most of it to go through one more low fire to resolve the surface designs, (I do have a plan…).
Curvy forms, finicky glazes, and multiple firings… Yea, I know. Friends are telling me I’m making this way more complex than it needs to be, but I just can’t stop myself. I’d be a lucky man if this was symptomatic of manic compulsive behavior, then at least I’d end up with a clean house once in a while. Unfortunately that isn’t the case…
I’m just bent. 


The other canister seems to have been claimed by Nico (my resident shaved monkey of a six year old) she gave it a big huge wet lick to lay an arguable claim to it. She and her brother already are planning wishes to fill it on Halloween this fall.





















What a fantastic day! Everyone had a blast to watching both of these amazing artists sharing many of their insights on throwing large. Admittedly though... I'm still finding a guilty pleasure in a long day spent listening to older more experienced studio artist's retelling their personal stories from the past 30 years of first hand art history. Oral history has always been a very decadent pleasure for me, but I'm beginning to see it as an "US Magazine" kind of thing. (I'm a total sucker for the old Volkus stories). There is so much West Coast history that you just can't find between the covers of Ceramics Monthly





