Day One

So I posted a few pictures from our trip to Pennsylvania where Dave and I attended a workshop with Simon Leach in his studio. Here are a few more pictures and a few more words to go with them:

I've mentioned before that Simon has one of the most famous names in pottery; most potters will be familiar at least with his grandfather, Bernard Leach, who is sometimes called the father of British studio pottery (whatever that means). I know Bernard Leach's work from books and online of course, but also from the museums I visited in Japan. (Leach studied with Japanese potters and later founded a pottery in England with one of those potters, Shoji Hamada.)

An assemblage over the sink in Simon's studio--postcards of Simon's pots, drawing of a Leach kickwheel, two photos of Bernard [it's actually David, Simon's father] Leach throwing.

But none of that really has to do with our visit to Pennsylvania.

Oh, one thing: Most people seem curious as to how Simon ended up in Pennsylvania after nearly 20 years in Spain. The simple answer is that his wife Jennifer is from there. They live in a house that she found on Craigslist.

What about the workshop?

The workshop is a two-day affair in a two-car garage behind the house that Simon has converted into a studio. There's a small wood burning stove at one end (which I'm guessing did nothing against a Pennsylvanian winter), five small Shimpo wheels, and a large electric kiln that Simon has converted to a gas kiln using weed burners and fire brick he bought from a hardware store. (He fired the kiln for the first time just before we arrived, so we were lucky enough to see the products of that first firing.)

Here's my home away from home, the wheel I used during the workshop:



We started out talking about how to reclaim clay.

Reclaiming clay is not something that I do. Some potters do go through the trouble of drying out then re-wetting clay so that it becomes a kind of bacteria and algae-laden sludge which then has to be further processed to a workable consistency, then wedged and kneaded. It makes sense in the long run to reclaim clay, especially for those potters who are trying to make a living at pottery and so must watch where every penny goes. Me? I'm one of those wasteful potters who buys pugged, de-aired clay by the bag (for about forty-six cents a pound) then ditches the scraps at will.

Why? Well, it takes a lot of space to store dried bits of clay and clay slurry and it takes a lot of time to wedge and knead clay. Also, neither activity is especially fun. (The Brain and I like the fun bits.)



In this picture, facing the back of the studio, you can see the brown wedging table in the lower right corner. Underneath that table are a bunch of five gallon buckets filled with clay sludge.  That sludge (which resembles swamp mud both in texture and in odor) is slopped out onto plaster bats which absorb the excess water from the clay. Once the clay firms up a bit, it must be wedged and kneaded to even out the texture and remove air bubbles. Because of that last bit, the removal of the air bubbles bit, it can't be kneaded like bread dough because that introduces air into the clay. There's a special technique you have to use to knead clay.

Let Simon show you his technique:



Dave applied himself to the task and got better at it. I gave it short shrift.

After a bit of feigning kneading, we weighed out one-pound balls of clay. I have never, ever weighed balls of clay in my life. (See also: Brain, The--Not fun for) I usually just cut off a piece of clay with my wire and form it into a ball (I didn't even used to do that) and start to throw.

Anyway, this is Simon's electronic scale that weighs out clay to three decimal places.



After the wedging and the kneading and the weighing, we got set up to throw. Dave and I had already claimed adjacent wheels by putting our tools down on and near them. Simon came around to inspect the tools we brought. (He throws with a minimum of tools and I think it amuses him to see the tools people bring to workshops. One woman for example, perhaps the least experienced thrower in our group, had one of the most expensive tools--a large, hardwood throwing stick in absolutely pristine condition--and she had no idea how to use it.)

Simon asked us to throw a cylinder and we did. Well, Dave and I did anyway. Simon came around, squatted by my wheel to inspect my wonderful cylinder, and said, "Someone's been practicing."

Here's Simon throwing a cylinder:



(You can see, just beyond him, the first three cylinders I threw on day one.)

Simon has a very efficient way of throwing that, I think, only comes from focusing on efficiency while practicing lots and lots. I'm not a very efficient thrower, I don't think. I've never really focused on efficiency in throwing, partly because when I focus on efficiency, impatience begins to creep in. I'm already too invested in impatience in my non-clay life so I try my hardest to keep it out of my clay-life. That doesn't mean that I'm not a skilled thrower. I am. (You'll hear more about this when I write about day two of the workshop.)

We threw a few more cylinders, Dave and I, then Simon decided we two could move on to throwing to a gauge. (Everyone else continued with cylinders.) What's that? It's simply a chopstick stuck into a wad of clay that's stuck to the side of the splash pan on the wheel. It'll be no surprise to you that The Brain did not like that at all. The Brain does not like it when it has to conform.

I tried though. I tried. Funnily enough, the cylinders I threw before I tried using the gauge were more uniform than those I threw using the gauge. The Brain does not like being told what to do.

We worked at it for a bit then had lunch. We sat out beneath the big tree in the front yard and chatted with the other workshop participants. There was one guy, Ed, rode the train 900 miles from Ames, Iowa. Another woman, Rachel, came from Maryland. A third woman, the throwing stick woman, Shelley, came from...hm, I don't remember. Anyway, she was accompanied by her husband who wasn't there for the workshop, but was there before and after and during lunch; one of those.

After lunch, we went right back to throwing. Simon showed Dave and I his technique for rolling rims and we practiced that. (We were more successful, The Brain and I, at rolling rims.) The others went right back to cylinders.

At the end of the day, Simon had us tidy up a bit, gave us a snack, and then cracked open the kiln. (This was the electric kiln he converted to gas.)





We looked at the work for awhile, and that was the end of day one.