After so long away from the clay, a rapprochement with the workshop feels like convalescence. At first one can only achieve a few small tasks of daily life, usually the undemanding or mildly pleasurable. This apparently means throwing colanders, and, surprisingly, wedging up recycled clay. I’ve felt too ceramically languid to tackle glazing or even bisque firing.
The heat wave is still with us:
By early afternoon the garage is on the shady side of the house, which encouraged me to take on some more clay processes. In the first instance this was a lot of washing up
tidying and binning.
I couldn’t bring myself to de-spider the library (ideas that might work one day, and, even more important, awful warnings I should never do again)
but I cleared and audited the ware shelves. There is a surprising amount waiting. This is because I can’t find a glaze and decoration I like for the white stoneware, but at least there are plenty of gash pots to try things out on. The past presides over the future.
Amnesia seems to be part of the potter’s complaint from which I have been suffering. I had completely forgotten that years ago someone gave me these china paints, still treasured away in their little chest
and when I got in among the mouse poos and cobwebs in the oxides and extras box, I found all sorts of things. Ilmenite? What on earth was I planning to do with ilmenite?
Better think of something quick. Or then again, let’s not risk a relapse.