Ceramics is my escape from differential calculus, colonial history, and metaphysical poetry. I’m far from a professional. I routinely lose control of the clay and watch it develop a consciousness of its own, slipping forwards and backwards, wobbling uncontrollably, laughing as it transforms me from the artist to a powerless bystander. But it’s still a chance for me to mold the earth beneath my fingers and feel it splatter against my forearms, to drown out my concerns in the humming of throwing wheels, the slamming of wedging, and the wheezing of our kiln. In the ceramics studio, conversation turns from The Physics Test to lessons on getting more height out of a small piece of clay, inquiries on what handle would best suit this particular teapot, and debates about which glaze is the sexiest.
Unpredictability is what separates ceramics from other art forms. I can use a scale to measure how much clay I’m using. I can use a foot pedal to control the speed of my wheel. I can choose what glazes I dip, paint, and splatter my clay with. However, I surrender all control when I place my pieces in a two thousand degree oven that spits flames and melts glass with a mind of its own. Every ceramics firing is slightly different, and I decided to embrace this unpredictability (this way, if a pot turned out hideously ugly, I could place the blame on the kiln rather than my incompetence). I focused on keeping my pieces wet, and obtaining an unnaturally thin layer of glaze that would drip and run of its accord. Simultaneously, I often force a line of glaze to fall into the interior of my pieces, particularly bowls. I treat these as evidence of the glazing process- a pseudo-signature, as well as a reminder that I can still influence the final outcome of my pieces.
I wish we had more porcelain.
Ethan Kim '19
https://photos.app.goo.gl/FWrgW5hHCwwXomvb9
