Kiln Culture

By Graham Hay

Continuing from Graham Hay’s article in the previous Pyre, this piece introduces a method for visualising the Western Australian ceramics community in 3D.

So, what does a ceramic-based community look like? Most potters or ceramic artists are physically tied to a place. The essential piece of equipment in our studio is the kiln. This very heavy piece of equipment, necessitating a significant financial and physical commitment. Beyond the cost of purchasing it, there are expenses for moving, installing, connecting to power or gas, and ensuring safe ventilation and protecting it from the weather. This requires a permanent space, either a long-term, low-cost lease from a stable and supportive landlord or ownership of both land and building. Almost every other art or craft form is far more mobile, and less tied to a specific location.

Unsurprisingly, ceramics can be a very expensive hobby or profession unless you’re part of a club or cooperative sharing the costs. Few can justify or afford the huge initial investment. Thus, a collaborative and sharing mentality is absorbed (alongside learning to make and decorate our work), and this attitude stays with us. This is our secret superpower, something other artists often lack. Kilns tie clay users to each other unlike any other art form. We must regularly gather nearby or bring in work, then collectively and ritually “offer up our work to the kiln gods” for the ultimate test of firing.

A kiln becomes the agent for strong, supportive, and persistent social networks. Because kilns are expensive, difficult to make, move, and install, we regularly return to the same spot whether for weekly classes or to drop off and collect our work. Over time, we become increasingly familiar with others doing the same. This repetition breaks down stereotypes, overcomes social awkwardness, and builds strong human connections and lasting friendships. The process compounds up slowly, or quickly during short and intense wood-firings or weekend workshops.

Regular attendance at a ceramic studio over weeks, months, years, or even decades, encourages the sharing and collective maintenance of ceramic knowledge. This creates an informal, inter-generational transfer of techniques and aesthetics that stretches back thousands of years. The creatively and socially addictive nature of ceramics has allowed it to persist through history, despite the invention of newer, sometimes stronger materials (like metal and synthetics) and cheaper mass production of functional ware. It also means we remain culturally connected to our ceramic ancestors!

How might I physically represent these kiln or clay-based social networks? After seven years sharing kilns with student peers at three tertiary institutions and another 27 years sharing my studio kiln with over 1,100 ceramic artists, students, and casual users, I began seriously speculating on these connections. I looked for other 3D examples of social representations in clay. Candle holders with a circle of ceramic figures were a convenient example, the candle flame in the centre perhaps symbolise a communal spirit, or kiln.

(Don, (2015) Ceramic earthenware paper clay, iron-chromium-aluminium wire, 47 x 40 x 38 cm Photo: Victor France)

For a commission from a men’s group, I reinterpreted these circular candle holder structures. Later, using paper clay and kiln wire, I built figures with ceramic sphere heads and taller, thinner legs and arms, resulting in lightweight works that didn’t break despite being roughly loaded and unloaded from my car for dozens of residencies and workshops. However, a circle of equal-sized figures didn’t fully capture the varied relationships forming around the kiln; such as the differences in duration and depth between my connections with studio artists, long-term students, and casual kiln users.

So, I analysed my studio pottery and sculpture class rolls, totalling the hours each student attended between 1998 and 2015. The data revealed a few long-term regulars, a cluster of consistent attendees, and hundreds of short-term participants. I attempted to translate this into a sculpture, using short ceramic rods for newer students and longer rods for those who had attended for decades. Each rod ended in a clay ball representing a person, all inserted into a single central ball representing myself. Unfortunately, the Long rods for long-term attendees broke, or the structure toppled over. So I inverted the design, giving shorter rods to those I’d known longest (as they were “closer” to me) and longer rods to newcomers. Another issue was scale: inserting rods for 1,100 students would require an impractically large central ball. To simplify, I reduced the representation to 50 individuals and replaced ceramic rods with recycled copper wire (added post-firing) to minimise the central sphere’s size.

An initial representation of a ceramic community (RPAS 2, (2015) Ceramic porcelain paper clay, recycled copper wire. 56 x 37 x 47 cm. Photo: Victor France

To reflect my place among fellow studio artists, I added a connected circle at the base, with wire links and spheres hinting at their own networks. The result is a strange vessel-shaped ceramic and wire structure, but it provides a starting point for visualising your own kiln connections. Where would you position yourself within the social structure around the kiln that fires your work? Draw or build your own kiln clan.

Alternatively, try building your family tree in 3D, using kiln wire to join clay people. (B & F: 4, (2015) Ceramic porcelain paper clay, terracotta slip, kiln wire, 33 x 45 x 30 cm. Photo: Victor France)

This is the second in an ongoing series by Graham Hay on using visualisation methods to understand social and cultural contexts, such as the WA ceramic community. See more of his socially inspired ceramics HERE. His next Pyre article will explore inter-student, inter-class, and inter-studio interactions.