We have reached the end of 2023. I’m writing to share what I’ve learned and where I’m aiming to go in 2024. This is mostly a practice for myself, getting my brain and intentions sorted out. However, I’m sharing my thoughts here so that you may read along, if you so choose.

2023 was a year of big shifts for me in my studio practice. While I continued to teach wheelthrowing classes at Claymakers, I stopped hosting AirBNB workshops at my home studio. I loved hosting folks here, but having to prep before, and glaze student work after, left me spending less time in the studio making my own work. In 2022 I was bummed that I didn’t have more time to develop my body of wild clay work before the fall markets and Durham Pottery Tour came around. Therefore, I listened to my gut and early this year I committed to focus on making new work with wild clay, setting aside earning any studio income for months. Other than teaching my weekly wheel class and one small sale in April, I did nothing but study, test, and develop my new work.

Before I continue, I just want to say that I’m proud of myself for sticking to that commitment. When you work by yourself, for yourself, it can be hard to follow through with goals and projects because the only motivation is your curiosity and self drive. I actually had to make a goal chart so I could visually track the baby steps of progress toward goals like learning to make molds, developing glaze, etc. The end goals were so big that unless I recorded the small steps I could never see any progress toward the finish line. I recorded baby steps like “made my first one-part mold” and “tested another round of cone 04 glazes”. There may have been no solutions from that round of testing but I at least needed to see that I was taking steps toward the goal. I also want to thank my husband, Noah, who has listened to my frustrations and my eureka moments, encouraging me along the way. His emotional and financial support made it possible for me to take most of a year to pursue an odd passion project that no more than a few folks may ever appreciate.

Back to the big shift: in 2023 I completely changed the way I make pottery. I switched from wheel throwing and hand building pottery to slip casting with my wild clay. A couple months into working with the current batch of wild clay, I grew frustrated with how little plasticity it had. It was difficult to roll out a slab or turn it on the wheel without the clay cracking. I was laying in bed one morning and the idea came to me: try slip casting with this clay instead. I have never worked with slip casting before: not the casting slip itself nor the molds it gets poured into. I don’t even know any potters (personally) who do this, although it’s a very common practice in many professional studios and in industry.

I had to learn this new skill “independent study” style: with books, YouTube, and a few online workshops. I started with a 50lb bag of pottery plaster and Andrew Martin’s book: The Essential Guide to Mold Making & Slip Casting. I listened to every pottery podcast I could find with “slip casting” in the description. I found some videos on YouTube about making molds and pouring slip, but most were too much of an overview with little help for troubleshooting. I scoured Ceramic Arts Network but only found a handful of articles, none of which I remember being very helpful. For all the information out there on making handmade pottery, there is relatively little instruction on slip casting. It must be something passed down among those in industry, learned on the job. After binging all the free slip casting content I could fine, I realized that I need to suck it up and pay for some real help. I signed up for several online workshops, the most helpful of which was Curt Hammerly’s 2-part series on mold making and slip casting. I also dug into information about developing clay bodies in Ceramic Materials Workshop’s Introduction to Clay Bodies.

With my respirator on and the plaster calculator pulled up on my phone, I began making plaster molds. I started with simple one-part molds to make small tumblers. I made clay prototypes and then fixed them to the bottom of plastic buckets in which plaster would be poured. While I got the plaster measured and mixed correctly, I had a hell of a time removing the hardened plaster mold from the bucket. I tried making another mold with plastic walls and clay attached to a board, but sealed it wrong and had the first of several “plaster disasters”. Still, some of those earliest molds actually worked! I mixed up a sample batch of wild clay, water, and deflocculant and poured it into a mold. After about 10 minutes I poured out the excess slip and was left with a skin of hardened clay on the mold: success! Did that first cast cup come out of the mold in one piece? Not on the first go, but after another try or two, it did.

Eventually, I learned how to make two-part molds.  I started using paper popcorn tubs and silicone cake molds for easy removal. I honed my timing and technique for mixing plaster, which behaves so differently than clay. Along the way, I gained a better feel for what shapes work well in mold-making. For example, solid forms would never be used in wheel throwing but work great as prototypes for making molds. Through the magic of slip casting, a mold made from a solid shape will yield a hollow form when cast.

With molds made, I set about modifying my slip recipe, adding some commercial clay and frit to help it melt better at lower temperatures. This required the making of test tiles and multiple kiln firings. Opening up a kiln full of test tiles isn’t as beautiful as a kiln full of pottery, but it is necessary. I also have had to use many little tiles for testing glaze recipes.  This wild clay of mine does not play well with commercially made glazes, which shrink too much after firing and crack on the wild clay. I had to do rounds of testing, using my own mixes of minerals in various ratios to find something that melted clear and glossy without cracking. What worked in the end was raising the temperature to which I fired the kiln, up to what potters call “cone 02”, or roughly 2050 Fahrenheit. At this temperature, the magnesium-based recipe that pairs well with the wild clay is highly glossy and clear, giving a rich lacquer to the dark reddish brown clay beneath. I call this glaze “simple syrup”, although the journey to create it was anything but simple.

I won’t get in to all the ends and outs of exploring shapes and surface decoration. In short, I played around a lot with joining two slip cast shapes together to make pedestals for lifting up bowls and cups.  I also tried spray glazing for the first time ever. In both ventures, I had to troubleshoot often and learn from mistakes, but I know much more about each process than I did when I started.  With slip casting in general, there is so much trial and error, taking frequent notes along the way: How thick was the slip? How long did it need in the mold? What is the best way to trim the seam off of this particular shape? I liken making pottery on the wheel to cooking: you can go by feel and taste, riffing and modifying as you go. Slip casting, on the other hand, is like baking: you test, take notes, adjust the formula or time, and stick to it strictly.  Many cracked, warped, and ripped pots were sacrificed in the process, getting thrown back in the bucket to mix again.  Thankfully, clay is reuse-able until fired.

What I’ve learned about myself in this process is twofold. One: investing in education and resources for myself really pays off.  I couldn’t have learned these new skills without the information gained in books and online classes.  I also needed resources to make it work, like new mixers, an air compressor, and some new raw materials. I had to invest a lot of money and time to get to where I am at the end of this year. Two: I need large amounts of time to research and develop new ideas and I have to set aside and protect that time. I also sometimes need a deadline to push me to work through a road block.  I may have given up on a new glaze recipe if it weren’t for a client who needed a finished product by a certain date. Overall, I have learned that I can do hard things but not without support and a dedication to the end goal.

I have so many ideas written or sketched in my notebook.  There are so many possibilities for where to take my pottery now that I have a foundation laid for slip casting.  I want to add more color, possibly some surface pattern, and more shapes.  More than anything, I want to revisit double-walled, insulated forms.  I was able to make a few successful prototypes but had issues with my insulated cup molds. I was only able to offer a handful of these gems for sale this year. They keep a drink hot (or cold), protect your hands without needing a handle or sleeve, and have a wonderfully chunky feel despite being very lightweight.  There really is no other way to make them than slip casting, which I, proudly, now know how to do. On the technical side, I am going to learn to make silicone “mother molds” so I can easily reproduce my favorite plaster molds as they wear out. I have a video class on silicone mold making already lined up from Mitchell Spain. I also plan on getting in testing mode again to try several ideas: raising my kiln temperature (again), making a white accent slip (that actually works), and adding color to my glaze recipe. I am joining fellow glaze nerds for another Ceramic Materials Workshop class: several months all about glaze chemistry.

All of this exploration, experimentation, and failure along the way has been so good for me, even when I’m pulling my hair out.  It has renewed my excitement over making pottery. I have more creative ideas than I have had in years and I actually wake up thinking about pottery pretty often.  I do feel frustrated at times because my technical skills are not yet up to par with my ideas and ambitions. I’m reminding myself that the technique will catch up with practice. Being a beginner, again, is surprisingly motivating. Elizabeth Gilbert put words to this in her book, Big Magic. She advises following your curiosity, rather than passion, when pursuing a creative life.  We may not always feel passionate about our craft but we can always explore the ideas that make us curious; test the waters and see what happens.  When I listened to her book, I realized that I had been following my curiosity about wild clay and the question of if I could actually make it work.  It turns out that I can and I did, but the curiosity is far from quenched. I consider that a very good thing for me and my studio practice.