Every profession has its ups and downs, but in ceramics, it's literal. The kiln's temperature rises to melt the glazes, hovers to allow the gases to escape, and slowly drops, allowing the chemicals to create vibrant colors. When throwing and centering, you turn the clay inside out by pushing it up to reveal the inner clay as you push it down. When coil building, you add height slowly, waiting for the clay to stiffen and strengthen before proceeding. Moving too fast will only bring the clay to a collapsing mess. I'm all too familiar with how my profession rises and falls.
So, after spending the week glazing full out on the tower project, watching the drawing come to life, and really getting the feel of what I created, it was with great expectation and trepidation that I opened the kiln on Sunday morning. The anticipation was, "Would the pieces be as beautiful after the firing as they were going in?" The worry was what if the pieces warped or cracked in the process. There were only two shelves; the first had three tower sections and a custom order, all of which fired beautifully. That success left me entirely unprepared for the disaster below. Taking the kiln shelf off and looking in, I saw that the base had split in half on the diagonal. After thirty years of doing this, I did not cry. I stoically rolled out another slab and threw another disc for the base for assembly the next day.