Waiting

The firing is done.  We sustained the blaze for ten days, the longest firing yet in the Little River Anagama.  We went through so much to make this firing happen, and as usual, despite our constant state of dis-organization, friends arrived at exactly the moments when we felt we couldn't continue--exhaustion, dehydration, overwhelm, etc.  Horus was fully participatory in every aspect of this project, from the rebuilding of the kiln, to splitting 9 cords of wood, to firing for 10 days...and although this was sometimes challenging, we would never have it otherwise.  

As could be expected, it took us a little while to get to know the kiln as a straight anagama.  There was an element of mystery, and also, a tinge of fear.  Is it going to work?  Lee was scared, and brave.  After a few increasingly disappointing firings prior to this renovation, as well as the issues surrounding Lee's recovery from major surgery and the ongoing managing of his arthritis, we knew we were taking a risk, but also embarking on a grand adventure.

On the last day of the firing, in the afternoon, everyone had left, and I put Horus to sleep in the tent.  I had been stoking earlier that day, and it seemed as though the kiln wanted more wood at each stoke to really maintain a reducing atmosphere.  The eastern white pine was burning immediately upon being tossed over the threshold, but on day ten, we were finally building up some coals in the firebox, while the iga pots and cups at the front of the kiln were evidently dripping, sloppy, glistening with natural ash glaze.  We were able to maintain reduction, signified by heavy opaque black smoke from the chimney, piri piri flames (post-secondary ignition of gases) leaping from the blowholes, and more of the same from the chimney, which would erupt with the sound of thunder, while simultaneously, the sky frequently opened with its own fulminations.  When Lee took over stoking that afternoon, everything was cranked a notch higher, and with every stoke, the chimney went off with furious flame.  Dark came on, and we continued.  Every crack between the bricks gushed with white fiery licks, and the entire structure--the site even--shuddered with mad wet heat, emanating, heavy, illuminating us and everything.  The energy rose to the apex of the last stoke, during which Lee and I crazily double-stoked the kiln, and scrambled for the kibuta, the final technique that translates literally from the Japanese as the "wood-pig method".  Kibuta involves crazily jamming the stoke entrance with wood split to one-inch thick, one foot-long sticks while the chimney ignites.  This method induces a massive final reduction which will hopefully bring out the most dramatic colour and texture on the pots, and the variations that will give our pots the profound character we hope to reveal.  

As if being filthy and exhausted for days on end is not enough, our ultimate task consisted of, immediately upon finishing the kibuta, sealing all of the angry red cracks of the kiln with newspaper drenched in slip that we mixed quickly in a large plastic bucket.  Giggling, giddy, panting, and covered in wet clay, soot, dust, and muck, Lee and I raced around the front of the kiln and to the blow-holes, throwing handfuls and rope-ey mounds of slip/paper onto every opening of the kiln which would immediately hiss and fizzle as the cool clay met hot brick.  

We ran up the hill to the top of the short chimney, and defiant and fearless, Lee cut off the violence of the plume of fire with the damper, slicing through red, orange, yellow and white.  Then we watched the slender whippets of blue flame snap and change, folding themselves into origami creatures of the night until they faded out.  Sitting with the quiet, we were pensive, and, as always, a little sad to see the end.  

Now we sleep, and wait.  Only a few days remain until the kiln is cool enough to open.  The thrill and anticipation is better and worse and more exciting than the best Christmas morning you can imagine.  

We will keep you posted.  

Yo & Lee