“And the hands on the clock, when we realized it’s so late, and this time we spent together…” – Dashboard Confessional
It’s crazy. I don’t have time for this. But I’m doing it anyways. Let’s see if off the top of my head and unedited is worth it.
#70 is cooling down through the 800s, a few dozen feet from where I sit at my studio table, chasing plastic and grinding through the last of the pots of this making cycle. With no random shutoffs, no wood stoking and virtually no wind, yesterday was probably the easiest firing in this kiln ever. Tomorrow I’ll find out if that improved process was also good.
Somehow in the midst of five a.m. wake up, kiln sitting, worrying, I made a full day’s worth of pots, too. This is the last possible chance to get them made if they’re going to dry, get into a bisk load that’d be half full without them, and get into the last firing of the season. Hopefully, that will be five total; hopefully these last attempts at taller ones, to fill the bottom shelf, will be worth the effort and the time spent making them. I’ve been stealing hours for a few weeks, all crashing the deadline. Getting up earlier; trimming breaks down to the shortest mandatory time for spine rest; coming back out late, after M is in bed, even for just a half hour or forty minutes. Sometimes I think the only profitable hours are these stolen ones. They also cost the most.
So two crazy firings done, a third on in the hopper, hopefully two more to go; if weather and gods and vertebrae and random illness and calamity are all generous to me. Boxes are starting to arrive for my sale. Arrive? Yep — you heard me. More info on that shortly. Pretty exciting.
OK, dudes. Jug tops thrown, triangular vase slabs added, mugs prepped — now handles, lug handles, base finishing, jar lugs, white slip, Tile 6 slip, black underglaze deco, pip chipping, and probably a few other things I’m forgetting. Also need to pull the damper tonight before bed. Oh, and get gas and pick up branches and do the first mow and read H.P. to my kid, and something something with that Frozen snow cone maker.
Cheers. Here I go.
“Time’s wheel runs backwards or stops. Potter and clay endure.” – Robert Browning