“A jack of all trades is a master of none but oftentimes better than a master of one.”
–Viktor Vicsek.
I often feel like a ceramic jack of all trades. I mean that in the complimentary sense of the adage above. Because I do custom work, potter friends will send me customers that fall out of the parameters of what they do. Often, the project is out of the parameters of what I do too. But as part of a generation of women that grew up with what Oprah calls the disease to please, I rarely say no and end up taking a journey down a slightly familiar path, having forgotten where the speed bumps are.
The lamp bases drying and shrinking before adding a few more inches.
In early February, a couple came to the studio looking for a pair of 30-inch tall ceramic lamp bases. I can coil-build; how hard can it be to build some pieces as tall as the kiln is deep? I said yes. I even said I would make six; two for them, two for the studio, one to screw up, and one to test glazes on. When ready, they could pick the two they wanted, and I would glaze them to order. The rest would be mine to play and experiment with and hopefully become studio stock. I set off down my path, throwing five seven-inch bases on the pottery wheel, then waited a day or two for them to harden and stiffen enough to start adding coils.
My first problem was that the kiln is only twenty-seven inches deep. I figured the lamp store could make up the last three inches, or the desired height was an approximation, but I still wanted to get them as tall as possible both for the customers and to challenge myself.
Here's a short video demonstrating coil building.
Clay shrinks when it drys and again when the chemical water fires off in the bisque and glaze firings. To get the lamps as tall as possible, I coiled them to height (27-inches), waited a few days for them to shink, and build them up again. I did that three times before I felt I had them as tall as the kiln would fit.
The initial glaze test done on some cylinder vases.
The clients wanted the traditional pottery look for their lamps, not the technique I usually use for glazing. How glazes interact with each other is another familiar but not so-traveled path for me. Fortunately, they had broad ideas about color. Saying anything in green, blue, or purple would work. I had no idea what my glazes looked like layered over each other. Glaze is marvelous. Each one is like a friend with various personality traits and quirks. Some dance like members of Alvin Ailey, while others are wallflowers. It takes experimentation and time to figure out which ones make a good team.
After the initial glaze tests, the customers chose dark blue over white for the top and purple for the bottom; I did that combination on the piece I liked the least. Upon review, none of us fancied the result, wanting more of a transition between blue and purple. For the finished lamps, I poured the white glaze over the top and purple over the bottom. Then blue overall. It worked beautifully with areas of blue-violet shining through the blue on the bottom.
When I texted a picture of the glaze fired lamps the clients sent me this happy customer photo.
I started with five bases. Along the way, I lost the shape of one, finished it off, and decided that it would be the test piece for glazing. One ended up a vase, and three made it to the full twenty-seven inches with silhouettes similar enough to be considered a pair.
While doing the glaze testing, I felt uncomfortable, wishing that I was doing my usual thing. But once out of the kiln, I was delighted by the results, and so were the customers. I could feel their enthusiasm at being so involved with the process, which had them visiting the studio several times to see the experiments. The third lamp will be going to a local lighting store where the owner and I will be judging interest. I am definitely interested in making more.
One of the lamps in it’s new home.