I’m really enjoying the challenge of throwing on the wheel. I feel I’ve come a long way since beginning the course in September – I can now control the clay to a degree and make the shapes I want which is new and exciting for me. Most of my last term was spent practising to throw cylinders which was a struggle because the clay is determined to flare out at the rim (hence why most teachers encourage you not to begin with making bowls).
These mugs are slightly tapered cylinders with pulled handles (attached when the body was too dry – there are cracks at the joint).
To decorate I played with layering a couple of glazes from Stephen Murfitt’s ‘The Glaze Book’ – an opaque yellow green and pale satin grey/green. At the moment I am brushing on glazes and making up small batches (100ml) but this is causing very uneven layers of colour. I might choose a couple of glazes I really like and make up a bigger batch so I can start dipping and get a more even coverage.
I don’t feel I’m very good at harmonising form and decoration. My approach has always been ‘more is more’ but I’m going to challenge myself to spend less time decorating and see if I like the pared-down results.
It was pointed out to me that my pop art oil lamps have a visual resemblance to the assembled structures of Lisa Krigel, a potter working at Fireworks clay studio, Cardiff and ceramic lecturer at the USW. Her 2016 work ‘Eighteen storeys‘ from the National Eisteddfod is a collection or stacked thrown vessels that reference a city skyline in perhaps Shanghai or Kyoto, drawing from the Brechers’ photographs of industrial architecture.
The only time I’ve seen her work in life was at a gallery during Made in Roath last year. At the time I liked the use of natural grey-green and blue sea-tones to complement the neat, architectural forms, but I felt the symmetrical stiffness of the towers made then lack character. I was excited to find images of similar towers on her website with teapots included, the spout and handle adding a pleasing, quirky asymmetry. Now that I know these objects are functional too, disassembling into cups, saucers, bowls and teapots (even the wooden display plinth can be used as a chopping board!), I have a new appreciation for her playful ingenuity.
This idea of assemblage, more than one item coming together to form a whole, is similar in Ben Fiess’s storage jars. I like the idea of being able to play with a ceramic object, to take it apart and put it back together (sometimes in new ways). Thinking of the way things stack, that ever growing pile of dirty dishes (admittedly mostly mine) beside the kitchen sink could prove to be an unexpected source of artistic inspiration.
Our ‘There’s many a slip twixt cup and lip’ brief requires us to produce a series of cups for a cafe of some kind. While I was away at university I suffered bouts of homesickness and especially on weekends, longed for a break from the busy city. I’d never lived in a town with more than 3,000 people before. I also drank a lot of tea while I was away, but early on found out I’d left one of my favourite cups at home. It wasn’t something I expected to miss.
Sketching cups in the house
There’s a distinction between a cup and a mug. While cups are usually used for drinking tea, their bigger siblings – mugs, are used for coffee and hot chocolate, although the only place I’ve drank from proper cups with saucers are cafes. It feels dainty and sophisticated to drink from a cup while a mug has a more down to earth feel. I’d call my cup from home a mug.
The mug has a wider base than lip and a curvy barrel shape which keeps in the heat of the drink and prevents it from spilling as you carry it. This sense of security is further embodied in what the mug represents – the security of being with people I love and a place I feel safe. The lip is thick and smoothly rounded – it feels almost as if you’re been given a kiss when you sip from it! It appears to have been made from a mould based on a thrown form. The glaze is a little lumpy where the colours have overlapped and there is a small amount of pin-holing where the glaze has left tiny craters.
I began without a reference. I drew what I imagined the shape to look like and attempted to repetitively throw these forms with the aid of a pattern I had cut from the side of an old debit card. I then asked my family to take a photo of the mug and send it to me. The difference between my memory of what the mug looked like and reality startled me and this opposition is something I’d like to further explore.
If you ask me if I know what my family members look like, of course I know but could I draw them accurately? Very unlikely. What I worked from was a sort of caricature of the mug I knew, the ridge at the base and curves emphasised. This made me realise how completely unreliable my mind is. Similarly to this post my mind fills in the gaps in its knowledge with what it expects to find. How can i capture this essence of how the memory works in cup form?
If a cup had a memory it would remember all the drinks it has contained, the times it’s been knocked over and liquid spilt, maybe the chips would read as the wrinkles of old age. The life of a cup or mug in a house is entwined with the lives of those who live there.
I’m designing my mugs for an imaginary cafe – a piece of home for me in the city, someplace I can go when I miss the countryside of North Wales. What could be more appropriate than to make the mugs from clay sourced from the area where I live? So far I have been throwing these forms in LF (low firing) white earthenware clay. My plan next is to try throwing with the clay I sourced from my local area in Snowdonia. I’m also interested in coloured slip decoration and it’s potential for illustrative qualities as my mugs would need to be colourful and cheerful to fulfil their purpose. I’m going to photograph textures and patterns from around my home for inspiration.