Summer in Japan this year has been exceptionally hot. It’s 35 degrees Celsius today, and I think this is the last of the intense heat.
The kiln I use in the studio takes extra time to cool in this weather, so the anticipation builds as I wait for pieces to come out.
There is no delight like seeing something for the first time. It’s a slow delight too. First comes curiosity and observation. Then, as I hold a piece in my hands, the smooth, warm glaze makes me want to stroke it and trace its contours.
On the top floor of the studio, the heat often dulls other feelings, but once I take the pieces downstairs, where the sunlight pours in, I notice new details. I also start to remember what I had done.
This time it was a slow-feeding dog bowl — a test piece for my one and only. I painted the name with a dark glaze mixed with copper, manganese, and ochre — a combination I’ve been using on plates and vases for the pub. I love how unpredictable the colours turn out.
With my favourite turquoise on a darker clay than usual, I was delighted to see a new shade of green. Darker, almost grassy, with tiny crackles and soft edges.
The letters, though, came out completely differently than I imagined. They’re my favourite part. I had brushed wax over them before glazing the whole piece, then wiped the surface to keep the letters visible. At the time I thought I had ruined it, wiping away too much.
It turns out it was the perfect amount of error.
It’s easy to think things need to be perfect and even. But the more unique these pieces turn out, the more charm they hold. The imperfections give them character. The process never fails to delight.
As I walked out of the studio, I thought about other things in life that have gone wrong, sometimes horribly. Yet I always knew things would get better. In fact, the best often came after the worst.
I have friends with new puppies, so next I’ll be making some little presents. For now, I love this bowl so much that it sits out on my kitchen ledge as part of my interior.
Thanks for reading x