If you’ve wondered where I’ve been - it’s the studio. Lots of work going through; I spent hours glazing Monday night, much was loaded into the soda kiln yesterday, and I’ll be unloading on Saturday. There are some whiskey cups at home that are ready to be photographed, too. Spent all day Saturday at Lill Street learning about firing the soda kiln. Many thanks to my willing teacher for his Friday night invitation: there’s a lot to learn, and I’m grateful to understand more.

There were lots of people in the studio the last few days, and I had several good conversations, as well as making a bunch more pieces.

Conversation #1: It’s nice to find other artists who feel that true mastery isn’t confined to being able to make nice pots, learning comprehensively about the iterations of the ceramic process. Clay composition, glaze chemistry, firing techniques, all these things have an intense effect upon the final product. These are things that intensely interest me, but have to be pursued outside of class.

Conversation #2: Everybody’s work is precious, and equally so. Thus, all artists should treat others’ work with as much care as their own. I think so too. Not everyone is so thoughtful, and that can be frustrating.

Conversation #3: One of the ingredients for my glaze has run out, and the studio doesn’t usually order it. After I mixed a new batch using a substitute, I learned that nearly all the other published versions of the recipe call for the alternate material anyway. Because I had done a bunch of research before the substitution (that didn’t include looking for alternate recipes!) I was able to have a coherent conversation in which a more experienced glaze-maker confirmed my thoughts on how the results would vary. Not all artists or teachers act as though the dialog can go two ways; it’s great to draw on the ones who do.

Conversation #4: In another conversation, a fellow artist commented that a lot of Lill Street people are going to be at Bucktown. He mentioned several people, following their first name with a phrase to identify their work, if I didn’t know the name - “who has the frog motif”, “who makes the pinch pots”, “who makes the creatures”. I’m not sure my work can be reduced to a few words. I’m not sure that I want it to be.

Conversation #5: I learned that one of the artists who teaches at Lill Street will be doing a wood+salt firing up in Galena, WI, and immediately approached him about participating. He had lots of suggestions, as I glazed my work, that some of those pieces would do well in that firing, as well as mentioning other clays and additives I could use to get some neat results. I’ve got some ideas, and a few weeks to make work.

Posting photos of my work is an interesting exercise; there is the photo and its composition, the subject matter, the work itself. When I get behind a camera, I tend to consider the graphic quality of the shot as much as what I’m trying to capture. My staged photos, with lights and backdrop, tend especially to be art portraying art.

My approach varies from the purer, more objective views, by failing to provide the most complete photographic description of a piece. If anything, I hope that it reinforces that there’s no substitute for handling and experiencing a piece of work. At the same time, it makes for some really compelling viewing.

I call them rock blocks, for lack of a better name. Got a better idea? Let me know; if I like it, I’ll give you a set. Photo credit: Guy Nicol.

I’ve been somewhat obsessing over the river-rock form for a few years now. It began with the softly amorphous outline of my hedgehog curled in a ball, sketched in pencil. That evolved into pools of watercolor, two, three, four, all the way through seven to a page, finding balance in the forms and colors. Then I picked up a few rocks, real ones, bluish gray, cool to the touch. After that my river-rock work began in clay, too. From a visual standpoint, the dark-roundness appears frequently in my work; it began intentionally, but carries on with some intention as a theme.

About these pieces and this series: they are all easily held in the hand, beg to be played with, arranged and re-arranged. But I imagine them at larger scales, to be sat upon, played in, as an installation in a park. The form would transfer but the material would probably change, and so would the construction method. If you know some way or have a contact that might help my installation dream become a reality, please let me know.

These are the images that I used when applying for my first shows earlier this spring. I’d intended to sell these pieces, but in the end will probably keep them. However, I have other pieces in the same vein. It’s just these particular ones that I’ll keep.

Nesting bowls. First warped bowls I ever did.

I selected geodes from my collection based upon which ones looked good together. I tried lots of ways of arranging various numbers, trying to find a view that described them. In the end, the four-square was really strong from a graphic standpoint; this was the pair that photographed well together.

The most time consuming tumblers of all time. It takes about two hours to carve away all that surface. Per piece. A good friend has one of them, I’m keeping these, and have a couple more (I think) packed away and for sale.

This happens to be the first house that I made. I was going to sell it, but realized that I really like it for a napkin holder. If you would like a napkin holder shaped like a house, let me know.