I'm smiling because I'm finished - yay! Do you like my freckles? I didn't know that I would end up with them. Choosing to glaze my heads, I had no idea how they would turn out.
It was a nervous and frustrating day spent glazing. It's not an ideal way to finish sculptures. Applying glaze means biscuit firing the pieces first. This makes the clay hard but very fragile. See the chip in my chin? I did this when brushing the dust off my head!
The technical aspect of glazing (especially when trying to digest it in a few hours) was baffling. Glaze itself is a combination of ingredients (minerals & clays & stuff - don't ask, I don't know). It's mixed with water to apply, and once the water evaporates it reverts to powder on the piece. Which can be easily brushed off - nightmare!
The numerous buckets of slurry all look the same - sludge coloured & nothing like their fired colour or quality. It was a leap of faith to pick a glaze and apply it. If the thickness is wrong it doesn't work; if the kiln is too hot or too cold it doesn't work. All my hours of sculpting down the drain, no second chance. Argh!!
For the first three hours of my class it seemed as if I might not be able to glaze my heads at all. My wonderful tutor Alison is a tiny powerhouse with an infectiously hysterical laugh - think Barbara Windsor crossed with Kenneth Williams in Carry On Screaming: "Frying tonight!"
I was in stitches but no closer to understanding a word she was saying. Eventually she suggested that I spray the glaze on with a spray gun - fun!
The process is extremely noisy & messy though, so I had to wait until the end of the day - panicking as I watched the ceramicists dipping & decorating their pots. But at last it was done - two heads & my winged figure. I could do no more. Let it go, pray for the best and wait for a phone call.
We collected my heads on the day the Olympic torch passed through Petworth. Two momentous occasions in one day - eek! Alison recognised Chris from his portrait - a good sign. As we made our way to the kiln room she glanced back.
"Oh we should have asked James to stay - he's a conservator."
What?! "Why, do they need repairs?"
"Oh yes," she nodded cheerfully.
Oh no! Chris had survived pretty much intact but I was a little worse for wear. Well I did tell you I was cracked in the heid! I had a fine crack in my chest and the parting of my hair, and a bloody great crevasse in my back - ouch.
Not surprising considering we'd been fired to 1100 degrees. But now the clay is hard as stone. I may have a large crack but I'm well 'ard!
I wasn't sure if I was disappointed or not. Chris, as ever, came to the rescue and raided his modelling supplies for Epoxy putty & enamel paints. I became my own conservator as over a week I filled & smoothed & mixed colour until the rents in our freckled flesh disappeared.
Now we're happily ensconced on the windowsill, welcoming guests on their way up our numerous stairs. Phew, job done.
PS: I'm off to collect my winged figure this morning. I've got everything crossed & will report back on its success or otherwise next time.
Lx
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