Well the wood is up and chopped, so it’s time to light the fire and surrender to the rhythm of the firing. As the fire asserts its presence questions arise. Consciously I am hoping my work will have spiritual and emotional connections to the Australian landscape, but is it enough? There must be more, and as the firing progresses I get the feeling that it is time spent on the journey that is important – but what journey? I am certainly not exploring the meaning of life, although conversation around the kiln sometimes encounters it in oblique ways.

As I look at the land around the kiln, the brown grass is very evident. It’s the end of June and no rain so far (normally we would have had 30-50 mm by now). Climate change certainly seems to be biting hard and I wonder about the carbon dioxide emissions from the kiln. Three firings a year – around 12 tonnes of wood emit maybe up to 40 tonnes of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere. That’s a lot of greenhouse gas. Maybe it isn’t as much as the farmer down the road produces when he clears and burns the trees from his fence line and it’s positively infinitesimal compared to the energy used by theoretical physicists in their search for the boson, but comparisons are not useful. Being less is no excuse. I am lucky Trish plants trees on our property. We currently grow enough to make the kiln carbon neutral (and we’re harvesting some of the quicker growing wattles as they die). With the increased planting each year we hope to make the energy use for the rest of our life carbon neutral. But the question still arises: does the journey justify such expenditure of energy? I could work in a different way, still plant trees and be even further ahead in reclaiming the environment.

Above: Pilbara bowl, woodfired, d.30cm, photo: Victor France

What about the identity of my work? Is it Australian? Am I turning Japanese? How can what I do be anything but international, given that images of prehistoric, Roman, Greek, South American, African and Asian pottery are present in my education, and the writings of Piccolpasso, Ruskin, Morriss, Yanagi, Cardew, Leach, McMeekin and a veritable flood of others have formed a foundation for me and the potters around me. Even on this distant coastline in the most isolated capital in the world, global images from electronic and print media flood into my consciousness during every waking hour. Supply shops abound with clay and materials that come from far flung shores. Any sense of regionalism must be increasingly overwhelmed. Maybe that’s why I am simplifying materials to a few naturally occurring clays from local deposits - to try and create a point of difference. Am I still pursuing a lost hippie dream of self-sufficiency or am I, as Morris wrote, “an idle singer of an empty day”? Maybe current Japanese potters are asking the same questions. It’s probably significant that Michiko says my work is very Australian, whilst my Australian friends think it’s Japanese.

Once again the rhythm of the kiln asserts itself as the temperature slowly climbs. Let’s not waste a stick of wood – no black oily smoke or flame from the chimney. I wonder how the new body will look.

There’s a lot of work in the kiln. The risk is not just in the firing, but also in the market. Maybe I should change my work to reflect fashion trends (now that’s a daunting task) or be like a dinosaur, unchanging until the arrival of the comet. The reality seems to be something in between. I’m changing (so will my work) but slowly, so I have a chance to

Left: Nightfall 2, wood-fired, h.60cm, photo: Victor France; Middle: Nightfall, wood-fired, h.55cm, photo: Victor France. Right Mug, woodfired, photo: artist

understand and learn. ‘Educate the market’ say my companions. ‘Advertising is the key to success’. But with what resources? Where does a journey with introspection at its heart begin to compete with high-speed consumerism? Anyway, there never seems to be much work left by the time I get to the next firing so I shouldn’t worry. It’s a pity that I probably can’t afford to buy my own work; seems to fly in the face of what it is about.

Well, the cones are down and the firing is finished and it seems like all I’m good for is a cup of tea and a long lie down. Was the effort worth it? I’ll know in a week. It’s taking longer and longer to recover from firings. Will I still be able to do this when I’m old? Nothing seems to be resolved and no questions answered.

The unpacking moves slowly with each piece being laid out in order relative to its position in the kiln. Oh good! There is the experimental body. Looks like it will make a successful glaze. I’ll try it in the next firing.

Finally the pots are all laid out – a frozen river of fire running through them.
There it is, the path of the fire: in some places turbulent and strong asserting its presence on the work, and in others soft, quiet and barely there, just a touch. Warm, hot colours; cool blues and greys; some co-existing side by side on a single piece; it’s a time of excitement and disappointment. The work is a result of our own hands; we cannot disclaim responsibility for the failures but, thankfully, we can claim the successes.

My companions pack their work and leave. So finally, there is my work on its own. At last I see. This is what I want to do: make work based on vessels that have served the needs of humanity through the ages, changing as their needs changed. Much like the physicists at the large hadron collider who are looking for the elusive boson, I am exploring something elusive. Although what I do will not lead to an understanding of the structure of the universe, maybe it may lead someone to ponder the spiritual nature of humanity. Wood-firers may be somewhat of an anachronism in this modern age but, like dinosaurs, just maybe, we will leave something that excites the inhabitants of an unknown future.

Stewart Scambler – Wood-fire potter –
operates Bohemian Ceramics with Trish
T: (08) 9339 3836
E:bohemianceramics@bigpond.com