Surprise

at the bottom of a dirty bucket.

Formed in dried glaze …

Feeling a bit fritful

Further to yesterday:  the only recipe for which I had flux available was one using alkaline frit.  So I weighed and slopped and began to sieve and belatedly discovered that the lumps of frit were not dispersible conglomerations but solid as concrete.  After bashing with half a brick they still looked like this:

A sealed pack of frit was also trying to turn itself into lumps, though not yet fully gone off.  I have dolloped some of that into the mix (and it did more or less sieve through) but have no idea how much to add.  The lumps I removed can’t be weighed accurately as they are now wet, and will also have bits of the other ingredients stuck to them.

Oh well – everything about the next batch of ware will be experimental, so what’s another experiment …?

Seasonal

36 hours, and being Dickens there is a lot of redundancy, so it doesn’t matter if your attention wanders for a minute or two.  This came in handy for a number of very dull jobs, and in fact is well read.  I find Boz quite annoying, but every now and then I can’t help bursting into laughter,

One of the dull jobs:  skipped it last year, but now it’s back to stirring and reconstituting neglected glazes, dried to solid discs at the bottom of pots.  Also hunting for a low temperature glaze recipe which – and this is the key thing – uses up those bags of ingredients already sitting dustily on the shelf.  Gerstley borate?  No.  Lead bisilicate? No.  EPK? No.  Ummm…

After the sabbatical

it’s a seasonal thing at any time, but after a long … long … sabbatical it was odd to sit to the wheel again.  In fact, so long that I am impressed that it still goes at all.  Best £50 I ever spent.

And after what seems like weeks sorting out the workshop, it’s good to have some new ware to put in it.  Miniatures, so I can fool around with some new techniques.  Don’t know what they will be yet, but one might work.

Picking up threads

Mixed feelings about returning to former occupations after the experiment.

The first batch of beach clay is drying off; the weather still chilly, so it is slow waiting,

while the next batch is slopping down:

Tackling the garden under the buds and catkins of the geriatric birch (surviving another season of gales)

The first grass cut is always wearing.  It’s long and saturated and intractable, but there are consolations …

… their dancing presents a challenge to the amateur photographer.

Receded

The hammering gales have dropped back. (Click thumbnail for gallery)

The hellebore thrives

with its curious black-centred belled flowers.

Amazed that these survived; it’s a pity the scent can’t be uploaded.

Violent seas have forced a steep shingle bar across the stream mouth and made the clay search difficult.

Do NOT choose this one; the fossil wood fragments may make the vessels burst on firing.

It isn’t chocolate pudding; a slopped-down beach clay I made earlier.

Back turned to the sea

although it was quite a pretty sea.  I provided myself with a sturdy driftwood plodge prodder and went fossicking for plodge along the cliff line.

The sandstone was not useful

and nor was the iron.

Prospecting marks definitely are useful at decision time; I saw one or two puzzled faces as I walked backwards down the beach making them.

The colours are tempting, but too knobbly to collect.

Hoarding makes you happy

Today needed treats – and received them.  The sun shone right through the cathedral.

Museum items on display included an astonishingly massive gold torc

a bronze spear

and a money-box almost 2000 years old.

The quiche was good too.  And I visited my favourite urn.

Shopping

I suppose one might want a giant supermarket one day … so I went to find it, just in case.  (Click an image for the gallery)

Blind bends, narrow arches and absence of pavement made the route potentially lethal

so I found another by which to go home.

It soon became narrower and I cludged along

following some rather large horses’ hoofprints. I hoped not to meet the rather large horses in the narrow space.

I peered through gaps in the scruffy hedges,

and yes, you can see it for miles in this direction too.

I looked at the emerging flora

along the way,

painstakingly reminding myself that it is spring,

though these probably had human assistance.

I hunted for snickets. The first was a snare and delusion; the second led me home.

Mud on the boots

Someone forgot to turn on the rain.   (Click a thumbnail for the gallery)

So I walked up onto the downs.

Yes, you really can see it for miles

but my attention was going forward along the trackway.

Enjoying the sun and the cloud shadows

and pausing for a small and slightly squashed picnic

I ambled on, and found myself looking for Pooh.

The beeches must give welcome shade on a summer day

and one or two of the boles were magnificent.

Obviously a popular play area; health and safety not a priority.

Gentle as the terrain may look, I was glad of a walking pole – slidy and quaggy after the rain.

Regretfully looking back …