The small sitting animal sculptures I make sell well, but they are extremely labor-intensive. So over time, I have come up with a few little shortcuts to speed things up just a tiny bit. I' m not a good potter and pottery doesn't really interest me, but I have a wheel that I use for other purposes than proper pots. I throw "body parts" that I combine to create many of my pieces, including the small sculptures mentioned above.
Building:
I start by throwing a somewhat conical cylinder which I alter afterward and is made to be around the height of the intended body of the piece. If you know throwing at all, I throw "off the hump," which speeds up how many bodies I can make in a relatively short period of time. Each conical cylinder, before it is removed from the wheel, is altered to somewhat resemble the shape of, say, the body of a sitting dog. I use tools inside the cylinder to shape the back, others to indent the opposite side to create the stomach and part of the bent legs. Then I throw some size-appropriate smaller pieces for shaping into the head of the animal. Then I let everything set up for a day or two so the pieces are not too pliable and slippery.
After the pieces have set up, I grab a lump of clay and shape other body parts, such as the front legs, the back feet, the tail, ears, facial parts, etc., Then it's a matter of putting everything together, which is the longest and most difficult by far part of the process because I want each and every piece to be an individual, different from all the others. I especially give the animal a personality, including how it holds its head, tail, whether it leans or not, etc.
After the pieces are built, they have to set another day or so to "set up." Then I can go back in with smaller tools to refine shapes. And finally, I go over tight spots with a wet paintbrush to make sure they are exactly what I want.
The Slab Roller
I should mention the use of a slab roller, too. Many of my pieces I make are made not from throwing and building exactly but from "slabs," perfectly flat sheets of clay that I either roll out by hand with a rolling pin, as one would roll out a piecrust, or on a large device called obviously enough a slab-roller. It's also in my kiln room. I cut a rather large section off a bag of raw clay, flatten it down with a rubber mallet and my fists to around a couple of inches thick, then run it through the rollers (imagine a very old-fashioned washing machine with rollers on it), to gradually get it to the thickness I need. It doesn't work at all to try to get to the lower thickness too quickly. The slab roller is a convenience, though, not a necessity. I used it more when I was doing large "production work" for galleries.
The Bisque Fire:
After around usually a week, the completed built pieces are then ready to bisque-fire. Bisque-firing is easier than glaze-firing because the only thing I have to be absolutely sure about is that all the pieces are "bone-dry," that is, that there is absolutely no moisture in each and every piece, and that my shelves inside the kiln are exactly the right height (too low and a piece can be broken when the next shelf is added. (Kilns are filled from the bottom up, with additional shelves added as needed to fill to the top.) Most times, to be safe or when I have any doubt at all about residual moisture, I "candle" the pieces in the kiln. That is, I set my kiln's computer to a timed low-temperature fire at a temperature around 200F, or if I feel they're most likely dry, 210 or even 225F. I come back often to check for moisture by putting a piece of glass at the top hole in the side of the kiln to look for moisture. These holes have plugs that fit into them during a full firing. In fact, I even test for moisture during the bisque fire up to around 400 or so degrees. Each time, if there's moisture, I have to make a decision about how much there is and whether I can continue or stop the fire and wait another day.
To load the bisque kiln, I must always consider the height and diameter of my kiln, how and where each piece can fit most effectively into that space, and keep track of keeping the thermocouple (see below in glaze firing) clear. Most top-loading kilns are narrow and tall, as are mine. As I mention below (yes, out of order), there are many aspects that must constantly be considered when loading either a bisque or a glaze kiln (see below). I know I should rearrange this description, but I'm tired and all the info is here, albeit a little out of order.
Painting the bisqued pieces:
Preliminary Painting, Blocking Out: (Painting is the most time-consuming portion of the entire process by far.)
Of course, after the bisque-fire is completed, I have to paint every piece, and it's really, really difficult, especially on these smaller pieces. This is where my turning paint table comes into great use by maximizing my time to painting and not moving around too much to do so. An aside: I set a timer at around 15 or 30 minutes to, one, keep me motivated, and two, to get up and move around for a minute or two. Very important! I have to sit to paint, and it's exhausting work, requiring a lot of concentration. One mistake or overlooked layer of paint, and the piece has to be thrown away.)
First, I have to block out areas where I don't want any paint, such as the eyes and sometimes the tails, etc. I do that with white underglaze. Recently, the clay I've used for years, supposedly "extra-white" has taken on a dull orangey color (according to my supplier, it's going to be a long-term color change due to discoloration in the clay vein they're using. Anyway, because of this, I sometimes have to waste a LOT more time and underglazes to cover up areas where I absolutely need bright, clear colors. It's a real pain, and I don't yet know how I'm going to deal with it long-term.)
Base Coats:
After the block-out phase, I add base underglaze colors to all the pieces on my table; then I do a second coat (sometimes, depending on the color, a third coat). This phase is probably the quickest, but it's still very slow, too.
Keeping Track:
On each piece as I paint, I write in pencil copious notes about what I've already done (pencil completely burns out in the kiln). With so many pieces being done at once, it's very easy to forget which phase of painting I'm on, especially if I get distracted for some reason. For example, I do a sequential hashtag: a horizontal line for each base coat, so at least two horizontal lines, then 2-3 vertical marks for each layer of detail colors. And I do a separate mark for dogs' tongues because they can make or break a piece if I make a mistake. I write T1 and 2 for each layer I put on the tongue. All of this I do in a visible spot, say the nose, which is the last thing I paint on dogs and cats) that won't get painted over until the end -- or never because, again, pencil marks burn out completely.
Secondary Accent Colors:
After the two or three base coats, I add white underglaze onto the areas where I want to add another small area of color on top of the base coat. After the white dries thoroughly, I add the accent colors over the single layer of white areas, two to three coats again, depending on the color. (Over the years, I have learned which colors need two and which need more.) Many people use a "mask" on the bisqued piece which prevents the paint (underglaze) from adhering in masked places. I have found that for me, an additive approach works more efficiently rather than dealing with masking processes.
Details, Final Steps:
Next comes the detail work, the most difficult part because I'm working in tight spaces with tiny paintbrushes. As I work on each piece, I'm constantly checking to see if I've made a mistake somewhere that needs correcting, such as a stray brush mark onto the wrong space, an accidental mark on an eye, etc. This process is one in which my age interferes with the fine lines; not all the time, but often, my hands and fingers shake when I'm doing this process. It bothers me, but I am a human, not a machine, and I think that's a positive aspect of my work, shaky lines and all.
The next to the last step, I add the black spots on the eyes, which in this case I use two hands to avoid the shakiness I mentioned just above. That's the most important part because it sets the animal's personality. If I don't like how I added the spots, I have to wait until they're set up, then remove them, then again add white paint where they were before, wait for that to dry, and then try again with the spots. And don't laugh at me; it's really important, and I think it's one of the reasons they're still selling after all these years -- because each one really is its own little personality. Many say, in my mind, "Hi, let's be friends; I like you." Others are a bit more aloof, but I don't think I've ever done an angry one -- I take that back: Some of my deep-sea fish definitely hate you or want to eat you! Finally, I paint the nose.
Finish Painting and Prep for Glaze Firing:
When enough pieces are done to be able to do a glaze fire, I take them to my glaze studio, to my large glaze bucket, and add the clear glaze, either by dipping into (or brushing on, depending on the piece) the glaze, set or hang each piece to wait for each piece to dry enough to handle them, then thoroughly, thoroughly clean the parts of them that will touch the kiln shelves. Then they need to rest yet again until the glaze has thoroughly dried.
Loading and Firing the Glaze Kiln:
Finally, I load them into the kiln. If I make a mistake by not cleaning their contact surfaces well enough, the piece is very most likely a failure and must be most times forcibly removed from the shelf, and the shelf usually has to be ground or sanded smooth again. (I almost never, ever make that mistake anymore!)
As I load the pieces, I have to make maximum use of the limited space I have in the kiln, which means I have to group like heights together for one layer, put flat but large pieces in a way that I can maybe add some small pieces around them, etc., etc., all the time ensuring that NO pieces ever, ever touch each other. I have to be sure that each and every piece fits into its kiln space both horizontally and vertically. Sometimes loading a kiln can take an hour or more, sometimes even requiring that I remove a shelf or two and start over.
The Thermocouple:
And also, there's this little very important device called a thermocouple that has to be considered as well. It's the device that measures the temperature inside the kiln and directs the program to raise or maintain the proper temperature at all times. If a piece is too close to the thermocouple, it can throw off the firing schedule enough to create a problem. Plus, if the thermocouple is bumped (it sticks out into the kiln between 2 and 3 inches), it can be damaged and really mess the firing schedule up -- or fail completely, halting the fire, and requiring a replacement, which is a really big pain to do. Not only do I have to wait to have one shipped to me; I have to meticulously remove the failed one and replace it with the new one -- all in tight spaces.
I should mention that when loading a kiln, I have to constantly assess not only the separation of pieces on a shelf, avoiding the thermocouple, but also the height of the posts separating the layers of pieces in the kiln. I have learned over the years that one needs a bit of "wiggle room" in the height, too, because sometimes a too-close to the upper shelf piece can have its glaze expand and touch the bottom of the upper shelf and ruin the piece. I have various things to help me with just the right amount of post height besides posts, such as broken shelf pieces, little flat clay pieces I've made over the years.
Okay, I think I've covered most of the steps I go through to create several (a kilnload) pieces to fire a full load of pieces. If you have any questions, please contact me, and I'll do my best to answer them.
Oh, one more thing I'll cover later: What goes into listing each piece in my online shop on Etsy, which for my ceramics is the only place I sell them -- except, of course, the around four large orders per year I sell to my two galleries.
