D A V I D H O L D E N
c e r a m i c a r t i s t
Site created by Sinéad Kavanagh, 2006©
Photos by David Holden and Chris P.R. May
The current trend in Irish craft pottery is towards forms which can be mass-produced
using slip casting and mechanical processes. At the same time, more elaborate decoration
and ornamentation has become widespread, typically using brightly coloured slips
and glazes. Modern off-the-shelf electric kilns can be pre-programmed to fire to
the precise temperatures which the various glazes require, and can be left to run
unattended.
The work of the West Kerry anagama group flies directly in the face of these trends,
and returns instead to the 1,500 year old traditions of oriental wood-fired ceramics.
Stoneware and porcelain forms are individually thrown on the wheel and moulded
by hand, so that each pot is unique even before the labour-intensive firing starts.
For five long days and nights, the fire in the hand-built anagama kiln is stoked
continuously until the pots glow white-hot as the temperature climbs to 1300°C. The
furnace roars, flames from the chimney light up the night sky, and layers of ash
from the firebox coat the exposed surfaces of the pots, melting to form the distinctive
glazes which characterise the wood-firing process.
The anagama, meaning tunnel kiln or cave kiln, was the original kiln design brought
from Korea to Japan in the fifth century AD, which first enabled the production of
waterproof stoneware, and thus the flowering of Japanese craft pottery. The basic
construction is simple and effective, but it does not allow for the more precise
control of temperatures and effects, nor the larger volumes that more complex multi-chambered
wood fired kilns can offer. This is why anagama fell out of favour in Japan from
the 17th century and why, despite a certain revival in the 20th century, it is unlikely
to challenge the dominance of more commercially efficient kilns today. Strangely,
the very unpredictability of the anagama process is one of the factors which make
it so attractive to the small bands of artists throughout the west who have discovered
and experimented with it in recent years.
For despite all the hard work that goes into a firing - the sawing, chopping and
stacking of 5 or 6 tonnes of wood is only the first step! - and the constant attention
that the kiln receives, always trying to balance and adjust the inflow of air to
the burning of the fuel, the potters can only control a certain part of the process.
The nature of the firing will also depend on factors which are even harder to assess,
such as the precise way the pots are stacked in the kiln, the extent to which the
passage of air and flames is affected as the pots start to dry out and shrink, the
type of wood used and its moisture content. Other factors are totally beyond human
control, and we have found that the atmospheric humidity, the direction and strength
of the wind, and maybe even the phases of the moon seem to have an effect on how
and when the kiln comes to life! In Japan, the management of these variables is
entrusted to the kama no kami, or kiln God, and we try to do the same. But we never
know until we break down the bricked-up front wall again, after a week’s slow cooling,
how the firing has turned out: what glazing effects and colours have been achieved,
where the flames have left their marks, how the different clay bodies have been affected,
and even which pots have survived the ordeal intact.
When we are successful, or lucky, the pots themselves show the signs of the transformations
which have taken place after a week of searing heat, aching muscles and disorientated
sleep. Fire, earth, air and water are brought together by the combustion of once-living
wood, and the ‘controlled spontaneity’ of the results is highly valued by artisans
and collectors in the Far East and now world-wide.
© Graham Timmons
West Kerry Anagama
By Graham Timmons
