I often describe firing the wood kiln as akin to steering a large ship. It takes a long time to gain momentum, to load, and then to change direction. The pandemic has skewed my sense of scale and time. It has left me thinking about the things I miss and making work for the kiln has me asking what is missing from the accumulated body of work. The desire to fire the kiln is like a boat that is parked outside my studio with a captain who has been blowing the signal-horn. Every time I walk by our whale-shaped kiln it shouts out, waving bright flags instead of the reality of mouse nests, crickets, and spider webs. I have been checking my inner timetable. Today we opened the door, cleared out the crickets, chased the mouse away, and began to load pots. I have always loved the sea, but this whale-shaped kiln set into the hillside calls my name.
Missing The Boat
It is not so much that the boat passed
and you failed to notice it.
It is more like the boat stopping
directly outside your bedroom window,
the captain blowing the signal-horn,
the band playing a rousing march.
The boat shouted, waving bright flags,
its silver hull blinding in the sunlight.
But you had this idea you were going by train.
You kept checking the time-table,
digging for tracks.
And the boat got tired of you,
so tired it pulled up the anchor
and raised the ramp.
The boat bobbed into the distance,
shrinking like a toy—
at which point you probably realized
you had always loved the sea.
-Naomi Shihab Nye, Different Ways to Pray, Breitenbush Publications, 1980