Mata Ortiz Pottery Class

Jerardo & Me with my fired pot

   I spent this last week in a class with Mata Ortiz master potter, Jerardo Tena Sandoval.  The tarry lump of black clay I received, directly from the Mata Ortiz hills, was fundamentally different from the product I pull from bags at home. It was sticky and thick with a stubborn tenacity that enables it to be formed into incredibly thin walls in any direction.  The available clays there range in colors from blue to yellow, white, red and beige, most of which fire to a brown color in oxidation but all can be turned black in reduction.  One of my favorite effects from Mata Ortiz is their black on black, especially those with the metallic mirror quality.  Apparently, however, that effect requires a lot of powdered graphite combined with diesel fuel, so we did not experiment with it in Healdsburg.  We did have some dark blue-black clay whose blueness only ghostly remained in the reduction firing.

Jerardo Tena Sandoval

     We began by flattening the ball into a tortilla and pressing it into the curved plaster form for the bottom.  Using a rib made from credit cards cut into circles, or Jerardo’s favorite tool, a plastic toy tea saucer, we pressed the clay into the base and began pinching up the sides.  We added a “chorizo” of clay to the lip to make it taller, continuing to pinch and push.  The most effective tool for me was the hacksaw blade that we used tooth-side first to unify the wall by pulling clay into depressions and eliminating high points.  Unlike normal throwing techniques of plenty of water, we had to keep our hands clean and dry to prevent marring the surface with dried clay. Then, lightly dampened, we ran the back/smooth side of the blade across the surface to further smooth it.  This clay, while strong enough to reach maturity in a brief but hot 30-minute firing, is extremely sensitive to moisture.  It dries slowly and is quick to crack if the moisture is uneven.  Sadly Jerardo recalled how, after three months of painting, a humid wind caused a crack in the wall of a large pot with jaguars on the lip.

Painting in Joann's studio. Hating it ans
convincing myself to stay

     For two days, we left the pots to dry then returned to sand them.  “This is what it sounds like in the village,” Joann commented as we all settled in with our 100-grit paper.  Dried, the clay is like cement, requiring vigorous, lengthy, arm-straining work to smooth the surface.  The more you sand, the more you can see the tiny divots as they filled with contrasting clay dust and demanded more sanding.  Once finished with that, you move on to 200-grit paper and finally, 300-grit, until you have “baby-butt” smooth pots.  Being of an impatient nature, I quickly tired of this and again increased my respect for the perfect surfaces of the Mata Ortiz pots.

     To burnish, we rubbed baby oil all over the pot and waited for it to dry.  Then we rubbed a small section with a damp cloth and rubbed it with a tumbled stone.  This turned the surface bright and reflective.  Finally we were ready for the decorative step and made paintbrushes from Jerardo’s daughter’s hair.  The paintbrush for the fine line work consists of only 8 hairs and is almost 2 inches from the tip of the brush to the tip of the wood.  Jerardo loads the brush with paint, lays it on the surface of the pot and slowly drags it.  In demonstration, he painted a grid where the gaps between the lines were only the thickness of the paintbrush.  It made me cross-eyed just watching him.

     I attempted painting in the Mata Ortiz style, naturally choosing to depict an octopus as goes my fixation.  Unfortunately, the precision paintbrushes are more inclined toward straight lines than curly ones.  “What do you do if you mess up?” asked one of my fellow students.  “Change the design!” smirked Jerardo. I became so frustrated I had to talk myself out of leaving.  I made a mess of my pot.  Finally I asked Joann if she had a needle tool so I could revert to my accustomed technique.  She handed me an inscriber, designed for etching into metal, and I was in heaven.  I was able to make curved lines, correct the edges of my paint job and, feeling joyous once again, dared to erase my stilted lines with the dampened rag and re-burnish.  My pot was cracked already anyway.

Oxidation firing completed

Reduction Firing completed

     The next day we brought our pots to be fired to another potter’s home in Forestville.  Since it had rained, we had to construct an additional fire to dry the area and heat the ground.   Meanwhile we preheated the pots in the oven.  Apparently this is done in Mata Ortiz by holding the pots over a fire, but since we had an oven, we used it, bringing the pots slowly up to 450 degrees.  When the first fire died down, we pulled the coals away and placed three bricks under a metal drum cut to 1/3 height.  Inside the drum, a BBQ grill, held from the bottom with a few kiln bricks, supported the heated pots retrieved from the oven wrapped in towels and quickly transferred.  A loose metal lid kept oxygen flowing through the drum but prevented the smoke from turning the pots black (oxidation firing).  We piled kindling around the drum and on top, doused it with lighter fluid and let it burn for ½ hour.  For the subsequent reduction firing, the drum was inverted and sealed over the pots and a bed of sawdust both to burn out the oxygen and provide more smoke.  In this firing, the painted areas, originally white for greatest contrast, turned matt black and the unpainted, burnished areas turned a deep glossy black.

     I was honored when Jerardo, the master potter, complimented my pot, and I was proud to be in the company of fellow artisans.  In Mata Ortiz, a town made famous by the revival of ancient pottery techniques using the most locally available resources, a potter is only granted the name of “Master” if he or she can perform every step of the process from harvesting the clay and paint ingredients from the surrounding hills, processing them, forming pots, making paintbrushes, burnishing, painting, and firing them.  In Peace Corps, I had notions of creating such an industry in my own site where clay was plentiful. In studying Mata Ortiz and the years of experimentation it has taken them to arrive where they are today, I realize finally that it was not my lack of ambition that prevented it from occurring, but a sense of scale.  It took Juan Quezada and fellow potters around 20 years to develop what they are still perfecting today.  They just celebrated the 50 year anniversary of the first perfectly fired pot of this revival movement.  I have found my respectful place in this historical context.  I can stand proud next to this master potter, as a skilled potter myself, and part of a global community of mud-slingers. After all, this incredible art form that has developed simultaneously in most parts of the world in limitless variability is evidence of human ingenuity and our innate drive toward creativity.

 

Panther-lipped pot Jerardo worked on in class

Jerardo's effigy

Jerardo's ram

Mata Ortiz Contact info:

     MataOrtizCalendar.com or Mata Ortiz Calendar on FB.

     If you’re interested in buying any of Jerardo’s pottery you can contact him at Jerardo Tena Sandoval via FB.

     If you are interested in having classes with Jerardo in the Bay Area, call Joann Cassady at 707 431-8319, email: joann@imakepots.com or Joann Cassady via FB.

Robots

In my latest fascination with robots and our future with them, I got a bit glum about our prospects.  Then my neighbor shared this poem with me, written in 1927, and it lifted my spirits.  The robots are still coming, but humanity appears to survive regardless....

The poem:   Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be critical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy.

© Max Ehrmann 1927

It’s all about the line

Heron Vase before firing.
The black ink on the decal contains
iron oxide which will leave a rust-red
marking when the rest burns away.

    In experimenting with these decals, I kept getting disappointed by the dullness of the filled spaces.  The decal bubbles and leaves a gap, but it’s otherwise unimpressive, a sort of faded rust.  What excites, and what the decal can do nicely, is produce a precise line.  Even if it fades or is interrupted by a bubble, the movement of the line survives.  So I reverted my images back to the original path of that dulled dental needle through the clay.  I cleaned it up on Photoshop, printed it out big,  exaggerated the line with pens, scanned it, cleaned in Photoshop, repeat.  (I’m making some great wrapping paper in the process).     

    The day it occurred to me, on a therapeutic visit to the ocean, I stayed up late into the night and awoke rooster-early the next morning to continue.  What has resulted is a design consistency that I believe can satisfy sets of dishes, or of bowls, cups or tiles.  I think I've found my use for the decals!… and it’s only going to get better from here!  So many pots to be saved!  Look out Salvation Army Outlet, here I come!

The process in detail:

1. Here is the original image: of a bowl freshly painted, not even fired yet (which is why the slip color is dull grey rather than black)









2. Then I altered it in Photoshop to a striking black and white.

3. To work on the white lines (like on the wing), I invert the image, print it out and redraw them with pen.  Scan it back again and invert back.

4. Then I hollowed out all the solid spaces and turned them into lines in Photoshop.  Print out. Alter with pens. Scan again.

5. Then I cram as many of these images as I can onto one sheet of label paper. (Sorry, about the image, but after all that work, I wanted to make sure no one would easily steal all my work)

Living Room Table/Workspace
Coming soon......
MOVING OUT OF THE HOUSE!

6. Finally, I cut out the decals (printed with my HP LaserJet), drop them in a bowl of water to free them from the backing, and apply them to a pot.  And I cross my fingers that when I fire them they don't explode or bubble the glaze or otherwise self-destruct.

new REDUX line for 2013!

REDUX, sounds like "reduce", sort of, defined as “Brought back; returned. Used postpositively.“ 

     As a potter contributing to the non-degrading mass of ceramics on this planet, it pains me to find mountains of discarded clay-wares landfill-bound simply because they have passed fashion or lost a useful home (see my previous post "Viva Ceramica")  

     All the while I work my tail off to create new ceramics that may too soon face the same demise. I smash up broken or too hideous pieces for mosaics, drainage and ground cover. But there are many plain pots that I can revive into functionality with decals I create from my own designs and fire into these rejected compatriots. 

    The first load was a bit disappointing.  I was able to wipe off the design and some of the glazes bubbled into strange tracks.  Of course some cracked too.  

  I read some articles, consulted some online forums, and took the firing up to a higher cone.  Much better!  Clearly not a perfect process, but it gives me a deeper understanding of the entire process. 

They will be a lower cost product (see my etsy link below)  which is not necessarily the most brilliant business move, but they help alleviate the concern about my own contribution to the indestructible heap.  

Please, tell me what you think!

http://www.etsy.com/shop/rhoneypots?section_id=12951599

Not so Abandoned Albertsons

View from below

     So the county bought this bowling alley and failed Albertson's with great notions of turning them into a community center.  Unfortunately, as seems to happen with increasing frequency, funding disappeared and the county merely maintains the property.  We have been to several of these properties since the bees in their industrious ways, take advantage of the lack of human activity to move in and make tremendous hives.  Such was the case with this Albertson’s. 
     On first inspection, I hoped that we could approach the hive from the inside, through sheetrock with minimal ladder work.  As it turned out, however, the bees were too far up inside the wall, behind massive, load-bearing beams for us to access easily.  So, in lieu of scaffolding, which wouldn’t fit in the narrow pathway below the wall, Joey mounted the 30’ ladder.  Luckily, Jose, the county worker assigned to accompany us on the job, had a harness for Joey that we anchored to the roof with one end of the rope while using the other end to heave a bucket for tools and, eventually, bees. 

View from roof

     The building was constructed in 1946 so the siding was massive thick redwood boards.  Between Joey on the ladder and me on the roof, we exposed the hive.  It filled one wide 16” bay from the roof down to a foot about the window (approximately 4’ in length and 8” in depth).  A very thriving hive.  Starting from the bottom, Joey sliced off comb and passed it up in the bucket to me on the roof where, if I could use it, I fit it into frames and secured it with rubber bands (the bees remove them with ease within days).  When he came in passing range, he began scooping bees in a cup to pour over the brood frames I secured.  At the top of the hive was mostly honey which, though tasty, is a death trap for the bees once it starts flowing.  It gets all over tools, suits… everything, and the poor bees can’t fly when they’re covered in it.  It’s definitely my least favorite part.  We filled two five gallon buckets with the comb and bees were everywhere cleaning it up.  We scraped the bay as clean as we could and anchored the new box/home in place so the bees could move in.  As long as yellow jackets don’t clue in and slaughter everyone, the bees do an excellent clean up job if left to it.  

     The next day, they were still wandering aimlessly, like they’d lost focus (their queen).  Given the awkward circumstances, it's difficult to locate and avoid harming the queen.  We stuffed sheets all around the hive to prevent her from running to another, even more inconvenient, location.  But she may have flown off, or been crushed in honey.  Luckily, we were planning on combining this hive with one of our small hives that would otherwise not make it through the winter so we had a queen to spare.  I captured her in an aerated cottage cheese cup (I tried to put her in a proper queen cage but she kept curling up in resistance!).  We were concerned that the bees might, in their riled up state, attack and kill her, but she walked in the front entrance to a welcoming hum.  When we checked back again, they had returned to their regular, focused, behavior.

Me on the roof, Jose in room below

Removing last comb

     Finally, we returned Saturday morning to remove them to our apiary.  They were cooperatively all inside the box, the walls were honey free, and, aside from Joey having a bout of vertigo that had him puking and me going up and down the ladder, all went smoothly.  We have another booming Sonoma County hive in our apiary.

Rooster Crooning

We’re on our third summer of chickens, and second batch of chicks.  This time one of the hens is not.  We wanted an all-hen flock to stay on the good side of the neighbors (and our weekend sleep).  But sexual politics among chickens turns out to be not so simple.    A hen in the first batch developed spurs and made teenage-voice-cracking attempts of crows at random hours.  Most of the hens hopped on top of each other in some imitation of sex, but now we have the real deal.  The surprised squawk of mounted chickens exclaims the day.  Supposedly, the presence of a rooster will tame the viciousness of the pecking order, which I’m sure the two balding hens appreciate.  Though his spurs are only just starting to emerge as little wart-like growths on his legs, his neck and tail feathers have grown long and luxurious, which I imagine him flaunting Fabio-style.  His comb is bigger and redder than the rest.  And this week he began to crow.  It sounds like a young girls’ giggle, a double-syllabled coo, still unsure and timid.  But he is taller than the rest and always in the forefront.  Maybe his song will strengthen when his flock sisters begin to lay and thus provide evidence of his prowess.  The old ladies’ egg production is down to a trickle while the young ones are just figuring out what the boxes  are for ( seems we should have gotten a new batch of chicks EACH spring rather than skipping one).

http://www.trumblydesigns.com/Gallery.html
     For our 13-year anniversary, we bought ourselves a painting of a glorious rooster by Trumbly.  On it is written, “He dreamt of a land where roosters ruled and magnolias never ceased to bloom”. 

I hope our rooster has such notions….

Dragons

Whenever I come back from a trip or a several-day throwing and trimming session, I sit down to paint a set of dragons. I twirl their tails, pin them under their toes, wedge them in their teeth. The claws are in my muscle memory, the scales train my wrist in a uniform motion, the wings are exercises in straight lines. When they are complete, I have a tray of dragons proudly egging me onward: praise to the childhood fascination with myth that keeps the human story just slightly undefined. It is impossible to draw an inaccurate dragon since none such ever existed, but there are some traditions of form that we cling to: the wings must protrude somewhere along a shoulder blade. The creases have to occur the way a lizard's leg would, and the angles of the limbs can't be more absurd than that of a frog's. 

     There is a fear of exposing myself as a D&D-playing, fantasy-consumed, nerd. But, then, if those are the experiences that gave me pleasure, what is there to be ashamed about? I embraced that feeling of promise with the various shaped dice in my palm, while my older cousin intoned, "Have a look, have a listen" and the result of the dice would decide whether or not I was aware of the Balrog waiting to attack behind the corner of his graph paper labyrinth. 

     Formative moments of imagination include dragons. Of course there were fairies too, but they were too timid to be seen. The mighty dragon, however, isn't shy. I've had a picture by Mercer Meyer of a girl and her dragon above my bed since I was 10. (From a book of Unicorns). I never liked the unicorn, especially as it seems to be taking pride in the dragon's demise. I always thought they were prissy, unicorns. But I loved the liquid drop of dream that oozes into the real world (and the nod to the Cheshire Cat, of course).

"Amanda Dreams of Dragons", Mercer Meyer

     Everyone has a story about a dragon, or how they gain strength from the idea of them. So I make big, hearty, dragon mugs to usher in a more powerful day, full to overflowing with unknowns and imagination