My interest in kilns and wood firing began as a child fascinated with bonfires, autumn was one long cloud of smoke. At school a rare tale by the potter Geoffrey Whiting about his old kiln was a glimpse into a different world…the thrumming of the flames through the flues and the hissing of the wood in the fireboxes. A more "pyro-mantic" picture was hardly possible.
Fast-forward to 1987 and I had become a potter myself. In the great storm an old willow, planted by my grandfather, came crashing down pinning the doors of my workshop closed with several tonnes of timber. With the help of some friends the old tree was cut up into giant logs and split into manageable pieces. A series of wood fired kilns, made initially from house-hold bricks used this wood up, producing some varied earthenware pots, made with local clay dug from the garden and the nearby beach's mud-flats. Most of my summers since then have involved clamp kilns, pit firings, and regular kiln building and firing. Pupils at King's School Canterbury were willing helpers after their summer exams, and one or sometimes two kilns were built and fired for several years.
Rarely did we fire to stoneware temperatures, and as my time became more limited, so the firings decreased in frequency. Organising the wood supply was always the most difficult part.
A visit to Rufford in 2003 introduced me to a wonderful group of potters who fire the Rufford "Toad" anagama every few months. I was lucky enough to be able to join them for their May and June firings this year.
With an experienced team, the pattern of packing, preparing the site and beginning the firing was very relaxed and good humoured. Some cleaned the kiln, while others mixed up wadding and still others began to stack the mountains of wood. No one needed to give orders, the necessary jobs were understood and got on with.
Wood firing aesthetics range from the lightest of touches of the flame (a hardly noticed breath on the pot), to the extreme look of a pot that has barely survived the ordeal of intense flames over many days, leaving rich and varied colours and textures. When packing an anagama time is needed to ponder pot placement and the potential flow of the flame.
Walking through the dim woodland on my way to an early shift, I notice the faint smell of wood smoke. As I approach the compound the haze of smoke and stacked wood are visible in the gloom. Then I can feel the gentle warmth of the great domed kiln and hear the quiet crackling of wood in the firebox. There is a calm excitement, and a weary smile from the over-night team. The kiln is two days into its firing and the stoking is still quite forgiving. Standing in the sunlight one can relax and enjoy the woodland sights and sounds before going back under-cover to feed the kiln again. Sitting in front of the firebox is still comfortable, stoking every 5-10 minutes. Learning to listen closely to the rhythmn of the kiln takes time, stoking too often and the embers rise too far, too little stoking and the temperature drops. I have found that taking things slowly is the key. Whether I am mixing my clay or throwing or firing, one needs to be relaxed and sensitive to the moment. In the firing of such a large kiln the whole structure needs to gently breath in the warmth of the fire before it can impart that certain glow and depth to the clay surface. The kiln requires the same level of care and involvement that is needed in making the pots themselves.
Firing an anagama is an infrequent event and always feels special; listening to the kiln, helping each other, shifting wood, laughing, innumerable cups of tea, long nights and the enchanted time around dawn in the woodland, all accompanied by the crackle and hiss of the kiln.
A day later and the kiln is more demanding now. As I come on shift at 7 pm we are just beginning to side (fly) stoke. The main firebox and then both side ports are stoked in turn, letting the smoke and flame from the chimney clear between each stoke. The cycle slowly speeds up, the wood bursting into great tongues of flame as it is consumed. This river of flame courses around the pots, deflected and eddying through the kiln. It is tantalizing to know that the manner in which the flames enfold a pot will be reflected in the flashing and ash glaze build up on the finished piece. When packing the kiln, leaving space for the flame is as important as space for the pot.
I finally drag myself away from the kiln at 1am, but I'm back at 5.30am being unable to sleep, ready for the final effort. It is now hard, hot work and the cones are checked every hour or so. They stubbornly remain unbent. The wood supply is beginning to look rather depleted. We probably only have 8-10 hours of wood left. Will the kiln reach temperature?
Long sleeves, welder's gauntlets and full face shield make the stoking bearable, if not quite comfortable. The kiln belches smoke and flames after each stoke, sated for a moment. We keep the momentum going, but as the day wears on, there are clear signs of the slow drip, drip of exhaustion. Cone 10's were bending by around 11am, and the wood was getting low. I had to consider getting away, I was getting tired and still had a long journey before me, but the magic of the flame was captivating. At 1pm, with cone 11 down at the firebox, I turned and walked out of the compound, leaving the kiln in full roar.
Unpacking a week later. The pots are still hot. The work is laid out in the sunshine. Flashed and marked by the fire. We look at the arrayed work and feel a sense of group ownership, "we did this". The cutting, stacking and firing, the effort over many long hours are now captured in the surfaces of the pots. We begin to home in on our own private successes and failures. We savour this time to study the fruits of the firing and compare clays and effects with each other. Discussions arise over what to try next time and what to avoid. We are reluctant to draw the final chapter to a close, but all too soon we have to make our way home, scattering back across the country until the next time.
The terra-cotta clays of my Kentish roots impart a dramatic dark surface to my wood-firing clay body, along with the tension of being at the limit of withstanding the stress of an extended firing. My enjoyment and sense of play in my throwing is heightened by my increasing use of local clays and materials, as is my satisfaction with any success in the finished pieces. It has increased my sense of letting the materials contribute to the work. The geological differences across England are precious, and should be used.
Wood firing and particularly anagama firing encourages you to let go. The process is too big for any single person. You have to rely on the experience of the group, and the group produces an effect beyond the sum of its members. You are released from the sense of control too often present in life. You do what you can and then let the fire and ash speak for themselves.