Already April 2021 and I am finally sitting down to share the start of this, my final year of the Otago Polytechnic Diploma in Art and Design (Ceramics), with my fellow students, friends and whanau.
This is the year of my self-initiated Project, hopefully culminating in a small showing of the outcomes from my ongoing experiments with clay building and finishing, at our wonderful local Waiheke Community Art Gallery.
The starting point for my proposal has come from a number of provocations, beginning with the landforms that I constructed as part of the final module of 2020.
I plan to explore the concept of mauri and whenua, bringing this to my work in 2021. This has its origins in the stories from my childhood of long dead heroes that can still be seen frozen in time, lying where they fell, identifiable now only by the suggestion of reclining figures in the hills and valleys that surround us here in Aotearoa. To this day, I still enjoy finding human forms within the landscape.
In Maori origin mythology, the Tangata whenua of Aotearoa, New Zealand tell of the separation of Ranginui and Papatuanuku by one of their sons, Tane Mahuta. In doing so, light and colour was brought into the world. I am hoping that my work might, in some way, also respond to this story.
Finally, to help me ground this year’s work (no pun intended), I have decided to focus on New Zealand artist Colin McCahon. McCahon Country, written by author Justin Paton and published by Penguin Random House New Zealand in association with Auckland Art Gallery 2019, takes pride of place in my small collection of ‘art’ books. It is this text, together with my research into McCahon and his questions of faith, that I will use to help me concentrate my work.
Below are a number of McCahon works from Paton’s book that I plan to reference as I begin to consider the form of my works, and then on to the colour and textures that give an acknowledgement to McCahon as one of ‘New Zealand’s most significant and important artists’.
Putting the cart before the horse, I scribbled out what may (or not) have been a Eurika moment when stopping for a cup of tea one morning. Having already discovered McCahon Country (a birthday present from my whanau) and thinking about what I might settle on for this year’s project, I grabbed the only paper to hand (the back of a supermarket receipt) and scribbled out my plan. It is going to be interesting as to whether my work looks anything like this at the end of the year.
Giving more thought to what it is that I would like to gain from this year’s research and experimentation, I decided on four main learning intentions. 1. Development of hand-building techniques and form. 2. Clay body experimentation – paper clay/porcelain. 3. Development of glazing and finishing – chemistry/application/range/colour. 4. Presentation of work. Aiming to work towards achieving these goals, I would be In Pursuit of McCahon as a means of keeping me on the path, and not straying too far into the woods. Taking my scribble further, I have very roughly sketched out what my work may look like in a gallery setting.
With hand-building back on my radar, I took Penny Ericson’s advice and went about constructing a set of five maquette landforms to gain some sense of how my sketches might look in three-dimensions. What I have learned from this first step is that my initial thoughts of five forms lined up in a row, may not communicate the McCahon landscape as I had imagined it. A large number spread out may get me closer. I am also having trouble with the regularity of the level of each upper outer edge, anticipating that bringing the sides up to meet a more irregular undulating landscape surface may work to bring a sense of connection between each individual form.
Clay body experimentation begins again this year with a return to the paper clay adventures with Peter Collis for the first module of the diploma back in 2019 (seems so long ago). As we are currently working with Peter again on a throwing module this year, he has taken the time to listen to my project proposal and believes that paper clay may bring some advantages to the build process, especially when working with slabs of differing levels of moisture. I am using a 30% newsprint to 70% mystery stoneware mix to begin a larger scale maquette build over the next week or two. Seeing a broken pice of last years bone-dry greenware in my bucket of clay did bring a smile to my face knowing that the reusable nature of this medium feels good.
Back to thinking about landforms and some of my as yet unanswered questions. Is paper clay the better choice for construction when I will need to join a number of components together, with differing levels of moisture content and some concern around the rate of shrinkage? How best to approach the construction? Start with the undulating surface or the side walls? With so many more swirling around inside my already cram packed head (and some ever so subtle encouragement from Penny Ericson to ‘get on with it’), a 30/70 paper to clay ratio of mystery clay has been brought into being with the aid of my trusty electric drill with paint mixer attachment (very effective if not too worried about splatters everywhere). An unscientifically derived thickness of paper clay was spread onto a plaster board and allowed to dry until manageable. This was then draped over a number of scrunched up plastic and paper supports and manipulated from below until a series of pleasing undulations and curves were formed. Initially I was a little hesitant due to the potential for cracking of the sharper fold lines, but some caution needed to be thrown to the wind to allow the forms to become more definite. The results of this first attempt are below.
Some attempts to isolate and divide this larger slab into smaller components that will be formed into three-dimensional blocks of land.
‘Working with light to give me shadow’ was suggested by Penny as both a visual device to gain further information about the effectiveness of the form, and also as a way of thinking when constructing a form that benefits from the play between light and dark.
Construction of the three-dimensional landform block.
In pursuit of McCahon? Well perhaps a good start.
From these first attempts using a paper clay, the issues that will now need to be considered are those of clay thickness; the point in the drying process that provides the optimum stage at which to cut the clay; whether it is best to construct the form starting with the top or sides; and at what point in the drying process is joining of the slabs best managed.
This next set of experiments begins with clay slabs twice as thick as that of the first attempt. I have added an amount of molochite to my paper clay slurry as this should provide a little more stiffness and strength to the paper clay slab to aid in the handling of the components. Before settling on a build process and scaling up the forms, I decided to experiment with the construction of the walls first and then attempting to fit the top inside and trimming the edge to follow the outside of the undulating surface. I did anticipate that this may be an easier build process due to the stability offered by a four sided base. This however proved to be quite challenging and had the adverse effect of limiting the size and therefore form of the top section. A decision was made to return to starting the build from the surface of the landform and persevere with the challenges that this method presents. These can be overcome with support structures and methods of joining.
Before continuing further on with this project, there are a number of nagging doubts beginning to surface the more thought I give to the overall intention of this work. I am starting to once again question whether I am attempting to pack in too many aspects to the work. Are the forms too literal? Is the korowai too dominant a feature and will it then complicate the reading of the work? If the pattern is important, how can the viewer connect with it if it is displayed horizontally? Set too high and it cannot be seen well, too low and it will obscure/dominate the landforms. If it was the simplicity of last years landforms that recommended them for further development this year, are my undulating forms too complicated? What colour should these pieces be if it is the simplicity of the form that is most important but that the form should also respond to light as a means of enhancing this aspect? Is this work becoming more about the creation story of Papatuanuku and Ranginui? If so, how now does McCahon fit in, if at all? Hopefully it is two steps forward and only one step back, not one step forward…. To help with these doubts, I have begun to look at the considerations of scale and using the simplified landforms to gain a sense of how these might look in place of the undulating forms that are still to be fired.
In an attempt to quell a few of those remaining unresolved nagging doubts with regard to the two essential aspects of my ‘Hunch’, Whenua and Mauri, I am returning to the flow chart that Peter Collis works from. Putting concerns of scale to one side for the moment, I am thinking that it might not be a bad idea to combine the two forms that I have already constructed, to investigate whether this might communicate my concerns more succinctly. A blend of the two approaches below might help to answer this question.
Keeping to the simplified landforms (above left), and with an intention to work with a speckled buff clay (rather than a paper clay), I constructed another three maquettes. One face of each has been altered to a more undulating surface in an attempt to bring more wairua to the whenua. Colour on this face alone may accentuate it and attract the viewers eye.
Another concern has arisen with this current iteration. Construction in clay brings with it another set of considerations than those of paper clay. All three larger forms have developed cracks at the joins, whereas paper clay did not crack at all.
The intention for using speckled buff was to expose the surface of the clay on all flat surfaces, leaving only the undulating one glazed or oxided. My concern now is that the size of the landforms without texture and colour, may end up looking like blocks of clay, rather than the landforms that they reference.
A lot of soul searching last week and much appreciated discussions with Penny Ericson and my fellow students, it is time to stop and take a breath. Begin again by taking a fresh look at the places of personal significance I am engaging with here on Waiheke and on the mainland, bringing with me the knowledge I have gained from experimentation to date. Penny was kind enough to again show me her process, where she begins spending time in the environment and taking photographs of the points of interest to her. Drawings are made from these, focussing on the aspects of the place that might be brought to a work in clay. Form, colour, texture, line, emotion, memory etc can all be elements that inform a work. I watched a short video “The Lure of the Landscape” from Bruce Hunt on Vimeo which definitely captures a method of engaging with the environment and how this can inform practice.
Another important discussion was had when thinking about the motivation behind the work. Although the simplified landforms came from my own drawings of Little Oneroa, I think that I may have been more than a little seduced by the ‘likes’ that I received, especially from those who I admire and respect. Perhaps my efforts to date have been more about attempting to figure out exactly what was liked and reproducing that, rather than working from my own instincts. My level of frustration is rather high right now.
With my levels of anxiety on the increase, and questions concerning how to strike a balance between the making itself and the ideas/concepts, I took a break and watched another video. This time it was a Youtube clip titled “Inside ceramicist and artist Joan Gardy-Artiga’s farmhouse studios”. Joan Gardy-Artigas speaks of his process, after a lifetime of experience, and talks about his apprenticeship and how we begin by developing the skill of making (he refers to it as the profession). He explains that ‘Profession isn’t the most important thing. What’s important is creation, the spirit, the identity. And the profession needs to be known and has to be respected but it also has to be forgotten because it takes away freedom. And freedom leads to art.’
Photograph/Drawing/Pot is the mantra I will keep in mind now as I plan to return to the places I am engaging with. A fresh look can’t hurt and a reminder to myself that my making is a personal response to a personal experience. My ‘like’ must come first, and if it is the only one, then so be it.
With an agreed to 4 week timeframe before committing to a solo showing of my work in the small gallery at the Waiheke Community Art Gallery at the end of the year, I have returned to the making. With my Whenua and Mauri concept in mind, the central figure of Papatuanuku anchoring this years work, and McCahon still hovering around the periphery, I have launched myself into the making of my rendition of his Otago Peninsula 1946-49.
At this first stage I am attempting to recreating part of this work in clay.
My thoughts are to divide the landscape into 5 pieces with similar base dimensions and then support these forms on a four sided box, suggesting that this landscape has been cut from Papatuanuku. The fragility and impermanence of our natural world will be reflected in a cracked surface treatment using sodium silicate to achieve this. With hopefully enough clay to complete this work, I may cut each form in two down the middle, providing the viewer with a suggestion of Papatuanuku and a nod to McCahon and his engagement with the land and his god. Bloody tricky build already so hopefully I can pull it together before the end of next week, ready for a bisque firing. With little success as yet with the art of glazing, I am back to thinking about oxides with perhaps a suggestion of copper glaze??
First attempt to divide and raise the landscape not going so well. The ever present issue with how much moisture remains in the clay slabs to allow for better joining, versus the need for the slabs to be almost self supporting, continues to dog me. I also attempted to brush the surface of the landform with sodium silicate in an attempt to create cracking along the backbone of the form by pressing from below. This was problematic due the need to remove the paper supports to gain access to the clay, together with the fast drying affect of the silicate, creating cracks along the edges of the form, further complicating the joining. A good night’s sleep later, sodium silicate ditched and paper supports intact, sides are being added as the sheets of clay become self-supporting.
With the three-dimensional landscape form taking shape with the help of cardboard boxes to help keep the top section elevated while the side sections were added, I have firmed up my decision to split the landscape to create a void within which Papatūānuku might reside. Why oh why do I do this to myself!
Breath held and craft knife blade replaced, the separation is so far so good. Another three forms to separate and hopefully I will have a set of ten individual components.
Although I have made a conscious effort this year to pull back on the complicated and avoid adding unnecessary details of the narrative to my work, I admit to not always following my own advice (in fact, quite often). With the void between the landscape forms intended to suggest an inner space within which Papatūānuku may dwell, out came the scratchy tool and an outline of a reclining female figure is now in intaglio.
Having cut through the forms, I returned to the idea of using sodium silicate as an aid to drying the surface more rapidly than the underlying clay, allowing pressure from below to split and crack the surface. Much easier now to gain access to the landscape from below as I can lay the forms down on the flat and reach in to the space. Success. With a little practice on the degree of pressure to apply before risk of breaking thru, some nice cracking can be created along any of the planes you might wish to accentuate.
Next step after adding a partial foot (not enough of my mystery clay left to completely cover the base of the work) to help avoid thin edges prone to chipping, apply an oxide wash of black copper.
Applying the copper oxide was a little more problematic than I had anticipated. Applying a wet slurry works well, but feathering it back to avoid any hard lines and introducing a level of gradation became challenging when the surface dried. Even the lightest touch with a brush had the oxide falling off very easily. Another reminder for me of just how important maquettes are for gathering the information that can help when working on final pieces. Over to the kiln gods now to determine the level of copper oxide concentration after firing these to 1220C.
With a gallery setting, a plinth and a little lighting, these McCahon inspired landforms are to become one of the four works that form a part of my over-arching narrative – Te Mauri O Te Whenua – A search for Papatūānuku.
Wanting to bring some closure to the works that started this investigation of the landscape and the question of both a physical and spiritual dimension, I returned to these forms and made the decision to keep them white in an attempt to focus on the form, rather than surface texture or decoration. I did however, want to add something to the work to reference place ‘Little Oneroa’. Returning to the foreshore, it is the patterns across the rocky surfaces, the sections of darker rock surrounded by a lighter mineral that is the signature I will attempt to use in my work.
Speaking about this with Penny, we discussed the concerns around what might happen to the reading of a form when marks are made across the surface, potentially breaking this up into smaller sections, and thereby altering how the work is viewed. If it is the form that is most important to me, how to add the signature, or even whether to do this or not.
With test tile and masking tape in hand, some experimentation ensued.
A lot can be learned from a test tile (I know at this stage of the diploma this might seem an obvious thing to say, but sometimes it takes me a while to really appreciate the significance of the maquette and how this can ultimately influence the entire work). The surface of my white tin glaze pitted when not underlaid by an engobe so another layer of engobe across the forms should help. Applying a lichen glaze on top of a layer of a pre-fired layer of engobe does not work. There is little to no adherence. Straight lines are tricky when attempting to apply differing sections to a piece as masking tape only works well on stable surfaces and firing each layer/section separately is not economical in terms of time and cost. Probably need another year to experiment in this way.
At this late stage in the game, needs must, so on with the finishing. Lichen glaze sections masked first and then a few thin layers of white engine brushed across the surface. Tape removed and black engobe applied with a brush to these section. No straight lines but hoping that with the glaze melt, these might just smooth out. In to the kiln for a cone 6 firing. It was at this stage that this work began the slippery slope to the pit of the unresolved, examples to learn by if you will.
Cone 6 was too high and caused the engobe to react with the previous layers, producing an uneven colour surface. May not be too much of a problem with a glaze overlaid? The next issue was that the forms actually started to show cracking along the joins that had not shown before, and this I am attributing to the heat. As this outcome has effectively rendered this work beyond saving, with nothing to loose, and temporary spray booth set up in my small kiln shed, white tin glaze with accents of nickel lichen were applied, with a final return to the kiln. The outcomes below.
Baber Ceramics 