About firing curves and what’s outside of the “kiln”.

Not sure why, but this morning a set of thoughts somehow aligned itself to the text below.

This idea is something that maybe makes no sense or perhaps it will make sense to just a few. Or maybe it only makes sense to me. And maybe only today.

When working with ceramics as an artist, the journey of discovery is quite individual, I think. (It is individual for someone who is in this for the reasons of the craft, but I am looking through an individual, by definition “incorrect” specific lens here.) The materials are so primal and really coming from the Earth in such a direct connection.

And this is true for the clay, the glazes and the process of shaping and adding and subtracting and then firing too. The kiln is like a tiny object really in which we expose our creations to light so intense that it makes materials behave in ways we are not used to. The orange or even yellow glow coming from the inside of the kiln has a frequency that is calming and yet also frightening.

The temperatures in the kiln might be quite high, but they are nothing when compared with what is happening inside of the Earth on which we happen to live. And the temperatures that happen to be on the star we are closest to are obviously even higher. No life could survive either of the places with their temperatures, and yet, with a certain amount of distance, immense complexity and beauty can emerge and pass through slow processes of transformation and evolution. Micro-evolution and macro evolution too.

The kiln appears to be a static place, but those who deal with ceramics know well, how crucial it is to follow certain firing curves. They are like formulas for what one could call “successful” firings. And the curves are shared among potters for both clay and especially for the different glazes that exist and are constantly being developed.

There are books about this, and there are even books that specifically deal with temperature ranges and the countless experiments and experiences that have resulted in certain curves.

A curve is a bit like a map of a journey for the objects inside of the kiln. It is as if we were lowering them into a hole in the ground and then letting them reach a certain level of what some ancestors would probably call hell. Or it is like sending them towards the sun, and sending them onto a journey that many of our ancestors would probably describe as heaven.

So here we have a black box of a capsule in which we are able to send incomplete creations on journeys we would never survive, but which result in objects we can love and cherish and which certainly can outlive us.

A friend had recently sent me some recommendations for books containing some really good curves for glazes at different temperatures. And she also sent me pictures of the curves that resulted in the most beautiful looking glazes, when applied.

I looked at those again this morning. And for some reason they resembled life curves to me. As if they were the journeys of a lifetime somehow. In the beginning the objects are coming out of nowhere, because the curves do not consider the actual shaping or glazing process itself. Then energy or light is added at a certain rate. And the object slowly goes through a process of transformation. There are points at certain temperatures where all the molecules in the objects perform some strange dances. And some objects never survive any of it. But some do.

Then the curve reaches a certain high point, from which things can go flat, or where the objects are “soaked”, or the temperature can be slightly lowered and for various amounts of time. Often quite short. And it all creates different results.

Then the curve goes down. It always goes down eventually. It must. No thing could survive an ever increasing temperature or an ever increasing amount of energy. And even holding the temperature at a certain level for too long would most certainly destroy whatever is in the kiln and also the kiln itself.

So then the curve goes down and down, also at various rates. And often it is somehow extended by still adding a little bit of energy. And all with varying results for the creation of the objects or their surfaces or both.

Then the curve ends. And in the eyes of the kiln the objects either die, or maybe for us they are finally born and emerge.

There is definitely a moment of transition again.

In some cases the objects are then ready for their new journey of eventual decay. In other cases the object and the glaze need to return into the kiln and their journey towards heaven or hell repeats. Often differently. Often several times.

I can’t stop thinking how all of this has parallels in how we as humans experience life. Not just our own but also that of others. How we go through a cycle of emergence and then movement towards a certain experience of heaven or hell or something like that, and how then eventually there is an end to this. There always is. Eventually the curve ends for everything and everyone.

And for some, the curve might be interrupted. And for some, those for whom the curve appears to be ever rising, it also ends, often abruptly or in destruction.

And there are so many stories of this and in so many cultures. It feels like an observation across many humans for many generations. And also feels like it is an observation from cultures that have lasted for millennia? Or cultures that have maybe built the foundations of what we are now?

Including every word and letter in this text.

It feels like a firing curve analogy could apply on a larger scale to cultures themselves. Change and the increase and decrease of energy of any kind appear to be crucial for anything that’s alive somehow.

It also makes one think about some of the more recent systems in humanity that are obsessed with unlimited growth and an unlimited increase of whatever name is given to the energy they receive. It could be light or money or attention. Nothing can survive a never ending increase of any of them. But in the end, nothing can survive anything.

But then the analogy seems to connect to other belief systems that give thought to what happens before and after the “exposure” to whatever energy it might be.

I feel like my head is specifically not designed to completely understand much more of this. Or maybe my head is designed to never be able to understand much more of this. Or maybe it is not my head. Or maybe I only think of it as designed because I constantly deal with acts of creation and transformation myself.

I am not writing this down because I think of myself as the discoverer of some incredibly profound wisdom. I am just amazed how such thoughts can even come to me somehow. And these fragile ideas make me marvel at life even more. At all forms of life and thoughts and the processes from the transformation from an egg to a butterfly all the way to the family tree I am trying to somehow pull out of various records spread across some barely still existing sources.

It is just amusing how some completely unexpected combinations of actions and energy transition can lead to more complexity and beauty and then also destruction.

I keep thinking of my work as in the context of chaos and some ancient experiences which we should not completely forget.

The interconnectedness of everything, across various dimensions feels more and more real somehow.

And there is also this thought of the vastness of the space and time outside of the “kiln”. A nested marvel of heavens and hells that might be built on curves that appear as simple images and do not need time for them to matter.

(This was first published to my two followers on Substack)