The Power of Mud

 

There’s one thing that’s helping me stay sane right now. 

Mud. 

Yup, mud.

Some people call it clay. I buy mine from a local clay company. But the components of clay are found in nature.  According to Wikipedia, “It’s a natural product of the erosion of igneous rocks like granite and feldspar. It breaks down over millions of years into fine particles which collect in riverbeds, lake basins and coastal areas, where they are found as sedimentary deposits.”

So, yeah. It’s mud that’s been washed by rain and eroded by rocks. And it’s now in my studio in a nice, neat plastic bag. And I love opening the bag and slicing off a thick slab of it. Slapping it down, folding it over and kneading it into a ball or rolling it into a slab on my canvas covered board. 

Then the fun begins.

My hands get muddy. My mind climbs into the backseat. And my soul sighs. I can make so many things from one chunk of mud. 

A vase. 

A face. 

A bowl. 

A bird. 

A leaf platter.

These are finished pieces. Piece by piece, they’re rolled and stamped and shaped and painted and dried very slowly. But they all started out as a chunk of mud. So fun. 

Then the work of finishing. 

Today, I did a part of the process that’s my least favorite: glazing.  Why is it my least favorite? I think it’s because it’s all about chemicals and precision: waxing, mixing, testing for the right consistency, dipping, catching drips and wiping. Then there’s the clean up. Ugh. 

There’s also a lot of set up and clean up involved because my studio is inside my house. I have to cover the tables and floor, bring in buckets of water and towels and sponges. It’s work. 

Mud, madness, and sanity. 

Yes, it’s work. But it’s also play. Bringing out my childhood love of playing in the woods in the dirt. And right now, with all the dirt and scandal, the most powerful thing I can do for myself is play in the mud. 

Try it. It might help. And you might find playing in the dirt is more fun than reading about it. 

 

Love and Waiting

 

I love clay. The smoothness, strength, flexibility, shaping, and painting. I love how it takes texture. Whether I throw it or roll it, I love how it feels. It takes textures of all kinds: leaves, twigs, lace, handprints, footprints, words and more. I can paint on it like a canvas or draw on it like paper or scratch out designs. 

And I love holding it in my hands through the entire process bringing it to life. Running my fingers over it time and time again to smooth edges and add handles and trim sweet little feet. 

I don’t love firing.

I have, over time, made my peace with bisque firing. I used to agonize over it. I worried that my green ware would blow up into tiny pieces. Not only would I lose one piece but, perhaps, others might be shattered just by being in close contact. All it takes is an unknown bubble to cause such destruction. 

But I know this necessary step will give me the opportunity to add more color, texture or meaning to the pieces. And I love that part of the process, too. And after many years of bisque firings under my belt, I see opportunity. 

Glazing and waiting. 

Once I’ve added all my color and my piece is bisque fired, there are only two steps left: glazing and firing. I hate both. 

Mixing and dipping each piece in clear glaze seems really simple. It is and it isn’t. This time around I bought 2 new gallons of clear glaze. It did not look or feel like my old clear glaze even though it was the same brand. It mixed up differently. It covered differently. It dried on the pieces ok, but I am still worried. Why? Because this, is it. 

All I can do now is load my kiln. Turn it on. Turn it up every 2 hours from low to medium to high. 

All the pieces that I’ve loved to throw, roll, trim, shape, paint and texture are in there baking at 2,200 degrees. 

And wait. Until the kiln turns itself off after reaching it’s required temperature. 

And wait. Until the inside kiln temp is as cool as the outside temperature to unload the kiln.

Will the glaze look wonderful? Will my colors and textures and sweet little feet survive?

Will I love each piece? I hope so. But right now, all I can do is wait.