Pottery Room
Early morning in the Pottery Room,
I gather my tools, bits and pieces of
heating coil, broken and brittle.
The kiln still warm from last firing,
but empty now,
I walk in, turning on the switch that
heats the coils as I pass through the arch.
Where are the bad spots?
I await the coils to turn red.
I see a gap, find a piece of broken coil
and push it into the gap with a wood
handled screwdriver.
Another and another
each chunk repairing a break, melding the
coils together, for now.
The kiln is getting hot.
Each break is fixed.
I back out and turn off the unit.
Next firing should be better, all
elements working.
I can focus now on my Raku ware.
Three small vases fired to bisque.
I have marked them with glaze.
One shows signs of having gotten
salt from another's glaze.
At the outside kiln, red hot,
I lower the pots carefully not to
touch one another, setting them gently on the pegs.
This firing is not long.
Once hot, the glaze shining, smooth, I lift them
and drop them carefully into the trash can
filled with dried leaves.
Ignited, the leaves smoke and smolder.
I'll leave them there until the fire goes out.
Once they have cooled,
I can wipe and polish their surface.
Amazed at the red and violet
colors that come out against the matt white smoke,
and the black shiny spots from the salt.
No artist can duplicate these creations,
like archological finds 10's of thousands of years old.
I see the Zen potter
making a pot for Tea Ceremony.
I hear the Zendo chime,
smell the smoke from his firing.
As doves rise with the smoke,
we melt together, bonded by tradition and
ritual, as we polish our pieces like a tile.
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