Body Vs Glaze

The past month or two has been focused on how the clay from Ashton Meadows reacts when fired to different temperatures. The results vary from bodies of pale terracotta,  to muted reds adorned with yellow freckles. When fired to above 1200 degrees, however, the clay melts – the moment on discovering this was briefly one of turmoil.

Having stated at the beginning of this project that I would incorporate this clay into my work I started to think about the positives of using it as a glaze and set about making some tests.

My initial reaction on seeing the results was one of disappointment…and of the 1970’s; the treacle-like glaze being very popular at that time. However, the more I studied the glaze the more it began to impress me.

• It was glossy
• It flowed smoothly
• It had depth of colour
• It was of the earth
• It would contain liquid

With this notion I set about selecting areas of more developed work to investigate appropriate facets to glaze.

The images above depict how I have used the glaze to create contrast in the interiors or edges of the vessels. I am still undecided as to which technique is most successful. This has been largely dictated by the discovery that the glaze changes from a tan colour (1240) to dark chocolate (1260) within a margin of 20 degrees.

The candlesticks present in the above image have been slip-cast using the local clay and I feel the rich chocolate brown achieved at bisque may yet trump the colours achieved when using the clay as a glaze.

Further experiments are now essential to help my decision making. Considering where these objects will be placed at the ‘site of the audience’ (Rose, 2012) will no doubt be the most informing factor.

All the Contrasts of Ashton Meadows

The site is one which has significant contrasts. Textures, appearances, smells and sounds all derive from natural and man made elements. It seems fitting that I should attempt to capture some of these conflicts in the work. In order to do so I have begun a list of all the contrasts I can think of. I will update the list as time goes on.

Natural/Man made

Rural/Urban

Quiet/Loud

Maintained/Neglected

Outside/Inside

Uncovered/Covered

Safe/Unsafe

Clean/Unclean

Mine/Shared

Past/Present

Present/Future

Dry/Wet

Alive/Inanimate

Intact/Decaying

Grass/Tarmac

Trees/Lamppost

Stones/Rubble

Soil/Paving

Wildlife/Cars

Brambles/Skate ramp

Clay/Bridges

Manipulating the Void

On reflection, the voids – though aesthetically pleasing – were too small to make either sculptural or functional objects. Having decided to limit myself to using the voids cast from the site, I was forced to ask the question how can I increase the size and scale of these objects?

Something I find exciting about plaster and slip casting is that this industrial process is rooted in the process of making multiple copies. Once I had a series of voids I began by cutting them into slices of various thicknesses. These slices could be stacked or alternated with other void slices to increase height or width. A negative cast of these slices meant I could slip cast the new void to create a new object.

The individual slices were exciting, but together they were not so successful. I then considered taking a trace of a range of slices and extruding them digitally to make new forms. The image below depicts how the slice would appear if extruded directly upwards or rotated around the centre at regular intervals.

Considering how to extend the width of the voids I began by creating a mould of each void. Each mould, like the slices, was cut up into equal sections and recombined using parts from other moulds. Where the original voids differed in size, the facets of the plaster mould are cast also, combing the organic void and industrial making processes. This is very much like the site itself, having both natural and man made elements. By cutting the moulds I could make them fit together in a multitude of ways, enabling the possibility of gaining height as well as width.

This process of manipulating and combing multiples is not only an enjoyable one but permits the potential of creating both identical or unique forms. By inserting other sections I can increase the width of the bowl form or stack to gain height. Excitingly, I now have the potential to create a range of different sized tableware from only three original site casts.

Casting the Negative

How can I make a vessel using the clay bed? This was the question I asked myself when realising that using local clay was an important factor in my work on contemporary culture in the UK. Having found a site I now needed to find a method to make objects.

Taking common garden tools to the site I began to dig a range of small voids in which plaster could be poured and left to set. The plaster void could then be manipulated in the studio.

Some voids were too shallow, the clay bed being solid and difficult to dig. All were so full of undercuts that casting  would be impossible. To erode the undercuts in the casting process would polish out any sense of the site and the moment of making; so how can I make voids with a genuine site experience?

Previously I had removed undercuts by repeatedly forcing a plaster model into clay before casting again. This process gives the model movement and life. However it happened after the original casting and away from the site. To use this process at the site would speak much more of the terrain quality as well as making objects that can be casted. Now, how to create the voids? Using objects from the site appears the most coherent response to this. Objects from the site, speak for the site and of the site.

Ashton Meadows – a site, a space, a place?

This is the site.

 

The site is beautiful. It is organic. It is urban. It is both. It is the best of both.

It is concrete, tarmac and metal.

It is water, clay, trees and grass.

It is dark, damp, dull.

It is used, disused and misused.

It is cared for. It is neglected.

It is empty. It is quiet.

It is part park, but no-one lingers. It is a thoroughfare. A desire line, with minimal desire.

It has a history.

It has a future. There is building work.

It is loud with the clack of travelling vehicles.

It is open space, covered space.

It was a place.

It is named. Its name is unknown.

It is not now a place.

It will be place again.

 

 

A reflection for action – my mind before making

It’s raining. My rucksack is packed with all the necessary equipment. I do a mental check in my head: plaster, water, mixing bowl, trowel, heavy duty carrier bag, smaller carrier bags, towel for cleaning hands. Content with this list I start to confirm the making process.

1. Arrive on site and locate suitable clay and objects
2. Dig the clay with the trowel, place into a carrier bag.
3. Use objects found on site and repeatedly press onto the clay bed.
4. Combine the water and plaster in the bowl and mix until the consistency of custard is reached; I don’t want any plaster to leak out or settle prematurely.
5. Pour the plaster into the cavity.
6. Wait for the plaster to harden.
7. Carefully remove, tidy, pack away.

With each step closer to the site a childlike excitement is bubbling more furiously until I find myself almost skipping; just to avoid the puddles of course.

Thankful that the site sits under the dual carriageway I think about how glad I will be to shelter from the rain. The site has been empty on my previous reconnaissance’s, but they were all on mild or sunny days. Who else might be seeking shelter today? A dog walker, a homeless person, a group of homeless people, a junkie, a group of junkies, a murderer? Suddenly my mind speeds forward to a scenario where I’m mixed up in an aggressive altercation, being flung down the muddy bank and swept away by the flowing river, watching as a shadowy figure finds meagre possessions in my rucksack.

Not content with this outcome my mind sets up another scenario where I successfully avoid being flung into the river by the shadowy stranger, but end up proclaiming ‘self defence!’ while Police pull a limp shadowy body from the river nearby.

This train of thought sets up a further chain of anxiety’s.

1. Will the site be vacant?
2. Is the river too high?
3. Will there be enough exciting objects on site?
4. Will there be any objects on site?
5. Have I brought enough plaster?
6. Will the casts be usable?
7. Will the casts look appealing?
8. Will I need the toilet?
9. Will people stop and talk to me?
10. Will people think I’m doing something illegal?
11. Am I doing something illegal?

An enthralling blend of excitement and anxiety surge away, but there is nothing left to do but just arrive, decide and do. It is with relief that from the flyover I can see the site is vacant, the tide is out and a glistening surface of sloppy clay has been beautifully chiselled by the river.

 

Found: Local Clay Site

Living near a river filled me with hope that I might be able to find suitable clay nearby for casting. I was lucky.

The site is near the river, surrounded by trees. There is a small path where people walk their dogs or cycle. But no-one lingers. The commanding dual carriageway hoisted above the space, slicing though some potentially great parkland, encourages people to keep on their journey. The graffiti, footprints in the river bed and litter signify the variety of ways this space is used.

This place has a name, though most people do not know it. ‘The bit near the river by…’ is probably how its location is understood, Ashton Meadows meaning almost nothing to most people. It is not a destination. It is a thoroughfare, on the edge of the city.

It’s what Paul Farley and Michael Symmons Roberts refer to as an Edgeland.

Places are known, mentally mapped, they have names. Spaces are unknown, unnamed on the exterior of the city as well as peoples consciousness. This location is still a space to me, relatively unknown, only recently named.

Can it become a place; not just for me but for the city? Can it turn a space into a place?

Ceramics for a Local Culture

I try to buy my food as local as I can. This local movement has been present for several years now and it makes sense. The carbon footprint is reduced, heritage breeds of animals become viable once again (think pigs and cows) and local businesses thrive.

With this notion I started to consider where the clay I use comes from…is it local, is it even British even? Ceramic makers like Issac Button would dig and process their own clay. Clive Bowen is an English maker and still processes his own clay as demonstrated in this video.

In a way of commenting on the local movement I think it is only right to start using my local area to make work. So what was the most simplest way of making a vessel? Clay comes from the ground and when removed or dug out a hole is created, a very simple vessel. I recently cast some holes with plaster in my garden in an attempt to discover how these forms appeared as positives.

 

My well dug soil meant that the positives were littered with undercuts, making casting an impossibility, though their forms were attractive.

The hunt begins to find a suitable, local location.

Eating Vs Dining

The famous Victorian, Mrs Beeton once said ‘creatures of inferior races eat and drink; man only dines’. Though wildly politically incorrect in a contemporary setting, there is some truth to this statement; Id prefer to say that all creatures great and small do eat, but the human race alone has the potential to dine.

This got me to thinking about what is dining really, how is it signified and separated from eating? What rituals, values and particularly objects must be present for a dining experience to have occurred?

I started to compile a list.

Eating:

• Food
• Chewed
• Swallowed
• Nourish
• Solo action (for most)
• Anywhere

Dining:

• Occasion
• Enjoyment
• Plates/bowls/cutlery/setting/napkin
• Candle light
• Courses- starter/main/dessert
• Alcohol
• Evening
• Social
• Music
• Dim lighting
• Table
• And suggested by Mrs Beeton, ‘order’ and ‘graces’.

When I think of dining I imagine subdued lighting and candles. This seems to epitomise the idea of dinner as an occasion, rather than simply providing nourishment. Imagine the scene below with bright light and no candles…somewhere to eat, or somewhere to dine?

So if I define dinner as eating at a table with candlelight, how many people in the UK dine? How many don’t dine? As a youth we always ate at the table, apart from Saturday evenings where we ate from our laps or from the nest of tables. I recall my mum’s decadent silver plate candelabra being used only once and never for a family meal.

The following articles provide info about the rise of TV dinners in the UK and the demise of the family unit where a lack of eating together occurs.

According to a poll in 2013, 60% of families rely on ready meals and 49% of families eat their evening meal at the dinner table everyday. With these statistics in mind, perhaps the modern day dining table looks like this:

Imagine that tray with a candlestick…is that dining?

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-21443166

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2487647/Unstoppable-rise-TV-dinner-Less-half-UKs-families-regularly-sit-table-eat.html

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/mother-tongue/9882717/British-familes-dont-eat-together-and-if-they-do-its-often-in-front-of-the-TV.html

Max Lamb – Product Designer

Max Lamb is a British Product Designer. I first saw his work when he produced My Grandfather Tree, a series of ash logs felled from one tree on his grandfathers land. The logs had no predesignated purpose, only that the purchaser could use them for any fitting purpose. This methodology reminds me of Takehsi Yasuda, who also makes his works and leaves their purpose to be created by purchaser, but always to be used, never admired behind glass.

This video helps to provide a scaffold on which to peg some of the snags/snapshots of thoughts about my current making process. Lamb says ‘it has to be about the learning and the discovery’ and this resonates with me completely.

His approach to using the beach as a casting work shop is exciting and inspirational, as seen in the following video.

I try to be true to a material, generally using the material alone and in its elemental form. […] I want to celebrate and exploit each material for its inherent visual and functional characteristics, properties and qualities … I never try to force a material, but rather to steer it into a form that is functional yet appears to have happened spontaneously, as if by nature. (Le Vin Chin, 2008)