Notes from the kiln room

The kiln finished cooling on Sunday morning, and four of us stood around it the way people stand around a fire. Nobody wanted to open it first.

The peep hole still glowed faintly at seven. We made tea, swept a shelf, rearranged the same three buckets. By eight the door was open and the first shelf was out, and there it was: the run on Ruth's big serving bowl that everyone agreed looked like a waterfall, and two plain cups that came out better than anything we planned.

That is the honest part of pottery. You shape the clay, but the kiln gets the last word. Some weeks it gives you back something better than you meant to make. Some weeks you learn what cone six does to a glaze you were sure about.

We set the keepers on the shelf by the window and the learners next to them. Both piles matter. See you at the next opening.