“Prior to formally meeting 'The Kiln Priestess' ,
a smirk grew at the thought when she referred to herself as a “gypsy professor and a potter” in her ‘artist statement’ --- a personal piece written by the artist regarding their modus operandi, an exegesis to their work --- and I could not help but picture a modern- day gypsy with a knack for pottery as a lecturer with such immense credentials and a body of work to match..
And upon meeting her for this interview, I was far from disappointed as she lived up to her words. There really is an easy-going, laid-back air around her, an aura of a spirit that is much attuned to her surroundings; earth & fire especially being her element.”
A DOOR labelled ‘Workshop’ opens up to a room of counters with sinks lined-up along the walls, a workshop table sat in one corner and what remaining space is populated with folding chairs making the setting of an obstacle course to get to one side of the room and the other.
The counters were decked with flat bottomed basins were graced with mud and gooey residue. There were mounds of hard clay awaiting close inspection with colours ranging from Sahara-sunset orange to Mustard-Yellow and Off-White to Granite gray. Beside the mound, a sink, a sieve and a bucket, which was made clear to us later, is the processes of treating the clay before it could be used to make ceramics. Running water on the mounds and sieving it through what looks like an everyday kitchen appliance would drain away the debris collected in the mound; from stones to grains of sand, and if it was still lodged in the clay, would spell catastrophe in the shaping --- or to be more specific ‘throwing’ --- of the clay to the desired design.
A massive bulk of iron in one corner is an industrial-grade kiln which heats up to white-hot temperatures --- an oven for baking materials to harden --- and an intimidating-sized ventilation system in the ceiling to redirect the heat. “An ancient artifact”, the Kiln Priestess said comically as I was standing as tall and as wide as I can to measure the immensity of the contraption.
SLAP, SLAP, thud, thud, creak, creak.
The sounds were coming from behind me as the Kiln Priestess beats down a football-sized ball of treated clay on a table. You can tell just by looking, the amount of effort exerted into ‘wedging’ is equivalent to a few push-ups. She beats the clay down and rolls it in a round-shape, this is repeated a number of times until the clay has no pockets of space and no cracks on its surface. This ensures that the clay will not break in the creative processes. Beyond a few stacks of chairs was another door that demands my attention, past the door is a room no wider than three shoulder-lengths. The shelves on each wall were hoards of forgotten pieces that were never collected by its respective artists.
End of Part I.