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From the Editor


Recently, I fired three kilns in a row that I considered to be full of tests. Of course, at the time, they were full of pots that were supposed to turn out as gems. In hind site, they were clearly just tests-and random tests at that. It was as if I was grasping in several different directions, waiting for one of those mythical "happy kiln accidents" to show me the way to my next studio fascination. I came into the house after unloading each of those firings and my fiancée asked, "How is it?" My answer each time-with a smirk, a shrug and a raised eyebrow-was, "Well, I learned a lot." This is not without merit, but I would then proceed to sort the pots into three categories: those for further testing, those to be refired and those in need of the hammer treatment. I think you know which category was the largest.

So, after the third such firing, I decided to do what I've always told myself I needed to do, what I've always believed in but have never done: severely limit the variables; study only one particular aspect of a problem at a time. I chose one clay (a brown Cone 6 throwing body), one form (mug) and then I summoned every ounce of self-control and restraint I could muster and glazed the entire load with just one glaze. Don't get me wrong, I really like this glaze. It's a lovely buttery tan/yellow glaze formulated with a mixture of fireplace ash, indigenous clay from my backyard and a nice stable satin matt I made in college. But still, it was just one glaze.

Then, with all other things being equal, I proceeded to test one other surface treatment on each piece. Here it was a layered glaze, there it was a brushed stain decoration, and so on. It was a terribly uncomfortable exercise in many ways, because it felt restrictive and restrained-not free and creative-but what I discovered upon opening the kiln is that I now had more information about what this one glaze will and will not do than I had gleaned from those three previous firings put together. I was truly excited about these results, because they were specific and precise. I knew exactly what treatment caused which effect. As a bonus, there were actually several gems in that firing, and I was as excited about getting back in the studio as I had been in college (some weeks I practically lived in the basement of Ohio State's Hopkins Hall).

It's been a few weeks since that firing, and I now realize that what got me so excited about it, and what reminded me of school, was the backwards way I ended up giving myself an assignment-a very specific, directed assignment-with the purpose of discovering something about my work and my aesthetic. I have not been that uncomfortable working in the studio since college, but I've also not learned that much in such a short period of time in the studio either.
I plan to keep giving myself studio assignments like this, and I would recommend it to anyone who feels a bit stuck or stale in his or her work. There is also a forming assignment on page 38 from Marc Leuthold that I'm going to try. It's not really my normal approach, but that seems to be the point, right? Get out of your comfort zone a bit and explore what you may never have considered.

I always keep that hammer within arm's reach of the kiln, but I also keep an empty spot in the front of my cupboard for that next gem.

Sherman Hall