What I Learned From Being A “Master Potter.”
What I Learned From Being A “Master Potter.”
Clay is moldy, messy and hands on. It is time intensive if you want to succeed and all about timing. Clay is meant to show the hand of the creator, as it is malleable and earthy in essence, but it still requires skill and patience. Clay has many stages of being as it ages and is worked. It can be ready to create with, too wet, too dry, has air bubbles, has hard chunks, too heavy or too thin. It can be soft, drying, leather hard, dry, bone-dry, bisqued, or kiln fired.
Isaiah 64:8 says, “...We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand.” While this verse is demonstrated on flannel-graphs for preschoolers and for adult sermon analogies, I’m no longer able to see the clay as a blank human form and God as the all powerful artist. Having done it, tried it, experienced it, the analogy has whole new meaning.
Clay fights back.
The first step when approaching the wheel to throw, after all the prep work, is to “center the clay.” You can’t throw a balanced pot without the clay being dead-centered on the wheel. My first attempt went flying, just flew off and landed on the floor like a nasty grey cowpie. The clay resists. It’s mud, clay, playdough, but it’s strong and it resists.
Center the clay on the wheel. Grip with firm pressure to bring it into submission. Then remove the air bubbles by bringing the clay into a tall cone shape. Then press it down into a “hockey puck” shape. Force it to center and shape. Over and over until it is centered and can become something more.Only after it’s centered can you open it up. Bring up the walls. Pull up taller. It took me about three weeks to learn that much.
The one thing I never thought of before is that clay is strangely strong. I know clay becomes bricks, pyramids, little piggy’s houses, etc. But it was astonishing how the motion of the wheel and lump of mud fights back. Yes... the clay is “putty” in the potters hands. But the clay fights back.
I can’t be the only Christian that resists God at times. The only one that resists instruction and resists being told to conform to a certain shape. I’m not the only one that plays ornery, fussy child with the Heavenly Father.
The wedge of clay is stuck on the wheel, eyeballing center. The wheel starts to move in a counterclockwise spin, and your hands cup over the clay. The clay fights and its like wrestling a greased pig on a spinning skillet. The touch has to be firm, holding the clay in it’s lump while pressing it into conformity, but without aggression or the clay is mutilated. The elbows rest on the thighs and the whole body is engaged in the battle for centering the clay.
The Master Potter brings the clay into mastery much faster than the amature, but the clay still fights. It’s not easy. Even my professor had bad days, off throwing days, clay with lumps or too many air bubbles. Maybe I’m the only frustrating child God has to wrestle to center, but I find it makes the image of God as a potter and humans-with-free-will as clay that much more powerful.
Romans 9:20-21
But who are you, O man, to talk back to God? "Shall what is formed say to him who formed it, 'Why did you make me like this?' "Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use?”
Perfect Timing
Throwing on the wheel means, traditionally, more functional art. Throwing applies to fine art, in the construction process, but for the basics of throwing on the wheel one learns to make functional vessels first, such as cups, teapots, bowls, vases, pitchers etc.
First one throws the form. Let it dry. Then flip it and “trim” the bottom to give it a foot, decorate the bottom, give it a “platform” to stand on. If it’s a bowl does it need further decoration? If its a cup, it needs a handle. If it’s a pitcher, it needs a spout. If it’s a teapot it needs a flange and a lid and a finial. Trust me, I had late nights and headaches over these little details.
The time and timing needed to execute one successful form is insane. Every stage of trimming or pulling handles to attaching handles to lids and getting them to fit and visually “work” takes EXPERT timing. In my semester of throwing, I never did make a successful lid. All my teapots are twisted and wonky. All theses steps or elements require a different level of dryness or wetness to the clay. The clay needs to dry to be trimmed, but needs to be re-hydrated to attach the handle. If the lid and the pot aren’t roughly the same when thrown and dry at roughly the same shrink rate, they won’t fit. You’ll make three lids and hope one fits in the end of the whole game.
Timing is only understood by the Master Potter. The Master knows, they get it, they’ve done it over and over and just know. They touch the clay and know what it needs. They know if it’s ready, too heavy or too thin, too wet or too dry. The Master Potter just knows.
More than once, I’d ask if an hour was enough wait time or 24 hours was enough. My professor would shake her head and say, “I can’t tell you that. It’ll depend on the clay and you’ll just have to see.”
The Master Potter knows how to time things perfectly. It doesn’t always seem like it, because we’re waiting for the next step. We’re waiting to see what our spout and handle look like, we don’t want this waiting period. But the Master doesn’t deal with human perceptions of time, but on his own scale, following his plan, he maps out his grand scheme with perfection, meeting all the deadlines with expert timing.
And that’s before the glazing process even starts.
Refined by Fire
The issues of clay and timing and craft all change when it’s bisqued and ready to glaze. Now we must deal with color and chemistry.
For my class, we were all baby potters. We were not taught chemistry. We were taught form and process. Before my class, I saw glazing as adding color. This is true, but it also decorates the form, strengthens the stoneware, fills in any cracks or flaws, and waterproofs the vessel.
A glaze is where the form is dipped or covered in a sludge-like coating which is then fused to the object through firing in a kiln. It takes an understanding of inorganic chemistry to allow the Master Potter to understand the physical properties of the glazes and the reactions that happen in the firing process. By knowing the formula of the glaze, testing, and experience the Master Potter knows what each glaze will do to the object or to other glazes when combined. They know what color will show up and will have a nearly predicted result when pulling the finished pieces out of the kiln. There are lots of accidents and possible variables, but the Master Potter knows.
All of this is too much to go into in a beginning level ceramics glass where the kids still lose control of the clay and can’t throw a lid to save their life. We were given guesses at what the glazes would do, we were given old test tiles, and we dumped and dip glazes without a clue of what we were scientifically doing. My professor would grin and watch us with entertainment, chirruping, “The kiln is either Christmas or Halloween. You love it or you hate it.” She was ecstatic when the process and clay taught us something.
I made guesses and tried recommended combinations. I had things I spent a LONG time glazing, turn out absolutely ugly. Other bad pots I was using as glaze tests, turned out beautiful on an ugly form. Some that I’d hoped would be gorgeous, weren’t that great. Some turned out great, total happy accidents.
Only the Master Potters really knows what they’re doing.
My point?
We don’t see the end vessel from start to finish. We see a lump of clay. God see’s his kid. We see a hot mess of slurry and mud on a wheel. God sees child in need of definition. God knows what he’s doing when he centers us. He knows what he’s doing when he removes his children from action to wait on a drying board and just how long they need to wait. He knows how long his daughter needs to learn a lesson. He knows when to build in his kids a spout of love, or build a handle of trust, trim a foot peace, or do any carving to remove the pride or weakness that remains.
He knows how long to wait before we’re ready for the first fire. And beyond all that, God has the skill to know what color this masterpiece needs to be. The combination of lessons, skills, trials and blessings and just how it needs to be detailed. So when the door closes, God knows that after the heat of the fire, his masterpiece will be perfect. And when he takes us from the kiln and shows us our reflection in the mirror, we’re not what we plan or expected and in God’s hands, we’re better than we even imagined.
Yet you, Lord, are our Father.
We are the clay, you are the potter;
We are all the work of your hand.
Isaiah 64:8
1/2014
Clay is moldy, messy and hands on. It is time intensive if you want to succeed and all about timing. Clay is meant to show the hand of the creator, as it is malleable and earthy in essence, but it still requires skill and patience. Clay has many stages of being as it ages and is worked. It can be ready to create with, too wet, too dry, has air bubbles, has hard chunks, too heavy or too thin. It can be soft, drying, leather hard, dry, bone-dry, bisqued, or kiln fired.
Isaiah 64:8 says, “...We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand.” While this verse is demonstrated on flannel-graphs for preschoolers and for adult sermon analogies, I’m no longer able to see the clay as a blank human form and God as the all powerful artist. Having done it, tried it, experienced it, the analogy has whole new meaning.
Clay fights back.
The first step when approaching the wheel to throw, after all the prep work, is to “center the clay.” You can’t throw a balanced pot without the clay being dead-centered on the wheel. My first attempt went flying, just flew off and landed on the floor like a nasty grey cowpie. The clay resists. It’s mud, clay, playdough, but it’s strong and it resists.
Center the clay on the wheel. Grip with firm pressure to bring it into submission. Then remove the air bubbles by bringing the clay into a tall cone shape. Then press it down into a “hockey puck” shape. Force it to center and shape. Over and over until it is centered and can become something more.Only after it’s centered can you open it up. Bring up the walls. Pull up taller. It took me about three weeks to learn that much.
The one thing I never thought of before is that clay is strangely strong. I know clay becomes bricks, pyramids, little piggy’s houses, etc. But it was astonishing how the motion of the wheel and lump of mud fights back. Yes... the clay is “putty” in the potters hands. But the clay fights back.
I can’t be the only Christian that resists God at times. The only one that resists instruction and resists being told to conform to a certain shape. I’m not the only one that plays ornery, fussy child with the Heavenly Father.
The wedge of clay is stuck on the wheel, eyeballing center. The wheel starts to move in a counterclockwise spin, and your hands cup over the clay. The clay fights and its like wrestling a greased pig on a spinning skillet. The touch has to be firm, holding the clay in it’s lump while pressing it into conformity, but without aggression or the clay is mutilated. The elbows rest on the thighs and the whole body is engaged in the battle for centering the clay.
The Master Potter brings the clay into mastery much faster than the amature, but the clay still fights. It’s not easy. Even my professor had bad days, off throwing days, clay with lumps or too many air bubbles. Maybe I’m the only frustrating child God has to wrestle to center, but I find it makes the image of God as a potter and humans-with-free-will as clay that much more powerful.
Romans 9:20-21
But who are you, O man, to talk back to God? "Shall what is formed say to him who formed it, 'Why did you make me like this?' "Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use?”
Perfect Timing
Throwing on the wheel means, traditionally, more functional art. Throwing applies to fine art, in the construction process, but for the basics of throwing on the wheel one learns to make functional vessels first, such as cups, teapots, bowls, vases, pitchers etc.
First one throws the form. Let it dry. Then flip it and “trim” the bottom to give it a foot, decorate the bottom, give it a “platform” to stand on. If it’s a bowl does it need further decoration? If its a cup, it needs a handle. If it’s a pitcher, it needs a spout. If it’s a teapot it needs a flange and a lid and a finial. Trust me, I had late nights and headaches over these little details.
The time and timing needed to execute one successful form is insane. Every stage of trimming or pulling handles to attaching handles to lids and getting them to fit and visually “work” takes EXPERT timing. In my semester of throwing, I never did make a successful lid. All my teapots are twisted and wonky. All theses steps or elements require a different level of dryness or wetness to the clay. The clay needs to dry to be trimmed, but needs to be re-hydrated to attach the handle. If the lid and the pot aren’t roughly the same when thrown and dry at roughly the same shrink rate, they won’t fit. You’ll make three lids and hope one fits in the end of the whole game.
Timing is only understood by the Master Potter. The Master knows, they get it, they’ve done it over and over and just know. They touch the clay and know what it needs. They know if it’s ready, too heavy or too thin, too wet or too dry. The Master Potter just knows.
More than once, I’d ask if an hour was enough wait time or 24 hours was enough. My professor would shake her head and say, “I can’t tell you that. It’ll depend on the clay and you’ll just have to see.”
The Master Potter knows how to time things perfectly. It doesn’t always seem like it, because we’re waiting for the next step. We’re waiting to see what our spout and handle look like, we don’t want this waiting period. But the Master doesn’t deal with human perceptions of time, but on his own scale, following his plan, he maps out his grand scheme with perfection, meeting all the deadlines with expert timing.
And that’s before the glazing process even starts.
Refined by Fire
The issues of clay and timing and craft all change when it’s bisqued and ready to glaze. Now we must deal with color and chemistry.
For my class, we were all baby potters. We were not taught chemistry. We were taught form and process. Before my class, I saw glazing as adding color. This is true, but it also decorates the form, strengthens the stoneware, fills in any cracks or flaws, and waterproofs the vessel.
A glaze is where the form is dipped or covered in a sludge-like coating which is then fused to the object through firing in a kiln. It takes an understanding of inorganic chemistry to allow the Master Potter to understand the physical properties of the glazes and the reactions that happen in the firing process. By knowing the formula of the glaze, testing, and experience the Master Potter knows what each glaze will do to the object or to other glazes when combined. They know what color will show up and will have a nearly predicted result when pulling the finished pieces out of the kiln. There are lots of accidents and possible variables, but the Master Potter knows.
All of this is too much to go into in a beginning level ceramics glass where the kids still lose control of the clay and can’t throw a lid to save their life. We were given guesses at what the glazes would do, we were given old test tiles, and we dumped and dip glazes without a clue of what we were scientifically doing. My professor would grin and watch us with entertainment, chirruping, “The kiln is either Christmas or Halloween. You love it or you hate it.” She was ecstatic when the process and clay taught us something.
I made guesses and tried recommended combinations. I had things I spent a LONG time glazing, turn out absolutely ugly. Other bad pots I was using as glaze tests, turned out beautiful on an ugly form. Some that I’d hoped would be gorgeous, weren’t that great. Some turned out great, total happy accidents.
Only the Master Potters really knows what they’re doing.
My point?
We don’t see the end vessel from start to finish. We see a lump of clay. God see’s his kid. We see a hot mess of slurry and mud on a wheel. God sees child in need of definition. God knows what he’s doing when he centers us. He knows what he’s doing when he removes his children from action to wait on a drying board and just how long they need to wait. He knows how long his daughter needs to learn a lesson. He knows when to build in his kids a spout of love, or build a handle of trust, trim a foot peace, or do any carving to remove the pride or weakness that remains.
He knows how long to wait before we’re ready for the first fire. And beyond all that, God has the skill to know what color this masterpiece needs to be. The combination of lessons, skills, trials and blessings and just how it needs to be detailed. So when the door closes, God knows that after the heat of the fire, his masterpiece will be perfect. And when he takes us from the kiln and shows us our reflection in the mirror, we’re not what we plan or expected and in God’s hands, we’re better than we even imagined.
Yet you, Lord, are our Father.
We are the clay, you are the potter;
We are all the work of your hand.
Isaiah 64:8
1/2014
Comments
Post a Comment