Tuesday, October 27, 2009
I do love this fruit--obsess on them even--especially in the fall as they come off the trees. I just can't walk past them (which gets to be a pain). I have to stop, inspect and make a decision on who to take home.
I had some unexpected fun with my tea bowls and camera yesterday
especially when when I found the grape vine reflections in the tea.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
About raku firings--I have fun with them but have yet to be happy with my pots that come through that firing so there you have it. David who lives out in Preble County Ohio and who has the propane cylinder (& an out door mud oven) wanted to do a raku firing. He had 3 large tiles he wanted fired and convinced me (who has the burner and kiln) plus a few others to come on out and do a raku. He threw in the offer of his homegrown lamb sausage & the use of his oven to make pita bread to sweeten the deal. Then Betty offered her truck to get the kiln set up out at David's and that clinched it. Away we went
Friday, October 2, 2009
It is fall again--this time 2009 and I am revisiting the hedge apple. Today was a busy day for me in the studio. I was pinching out small sake cups. My friend--Waka--who comes originally from Japan tells me they are ochoko (my spelling). These come from this years fruit found fallen in my neighborhood on one of my walks.
As always this process of copying nature comes as an obsession and is a difficult yet rewarding process. I leave you with a picture of some of my recent hedge apple efforts. This sheep flask and her little ochoko flock are to be re-fired as I am dissatisfied with how flat the glaze makes their surface. Stay tuned. I shall let you know how their next kiln journey goes. Mean while I leave you with a poem from past experience.
Grandmother Hedge Apple
Since last December had waited
until—again--it was fall.
Every morning I walked past her—Grandmother Hedge Apple.
Looking and waiting for her to release
Her lumpy and beautiful fruit.
Through November I waited.
Until that week—
The week it took four men to cut her down.
During those days I held vigil
For she was a great one
And needed my view as much as I needed to see her.
Her cut open trunk filled the air with spiky fragrance
And I found
I coveted her mass—wondering what things could be made
From her stringy orange flesh
And could only imagine what fires she would make.
When the stump grinders had gone
I went to the mound of fruit at her roots.
Of all the hedge apples I've held in my hands
Those tender green children
They were the ones I loved most.
Jean Ann Bolliger
© February 2004