I work from my lifelong home in Cumbria, on the edge of the Lake District. All of my work is made in small batches, slowly, on a momentum kick wheel. This suits our quiet pace of life. Each making cycle has its own meditative rhythm. The work is glazed in the leather-hard state, sometimes the day after being thrown, ready to be put into the kiln. As the pots accumulate, a sense of anticipation begins to build, the firing drawing closer. It’s as if the volume begins to increase, slowly at first, but reaching a crescendo when the firing is at its peak. I choose to wood-fire my work, so each firing comes with its own challenges. Losses can be enormous. There are many, many ways to go wrong. The trick is to try not to repeat the same mistakes twice. An ample supply of seasoned wood is essential. Many of my days are spent processing fuel: cutting to size, splitting, carrying, stacking. Four tonnes at a time. The wood I use is offcuts from a local sawmill, a mixture of hardwoods from trees felled in the area. Every day is busy, and jobs are numerous, until the wood stacks are in good order and there are enough pots to pack the kiln. Packing normally takes two days; an achy affair, spent cramped in a kiln carefully positioning the pots from the back to the front, stacking the ware and heavy kiln shelves one on top of another. After that, the door is bricked up. Then dinner, then a good night’s sleep, then an early morning. Then stillness.

After all the work, a blissful feeling creeps in when you realise that all there is to do is tend the fire. It’s like I’ve stopped, properly, for the first time in months. This feeling normally lasts a few hours. A slow morning with plenty of tea and coffee, if the weather is kind. The peaceful feeling waves goodbye as the kiln grows hungrier, demanding more fuel and more attention by the hour. As the heat increases, anxiety builds. It’s generally easy to get a kiln to 1100-1200°C, but getting the final 80 degrees can be incredibly challenging. It can take hours. A slight alteration to the air intakes, the damper in the chimney, or the amount of fuel you stoke at a time can be the difference between getting to temperature or stalling out. My partner and I are the only ones firing these kilns, so after staying up all night, it can be very hard to keep a clear judgement of the situation. There have been times when we haven’t gotten to temperature at all. An entire month’s work and tonnes of wood can go down the drain, just like that. All because of a flaw in the kiln design, a lack of fully dry wood, or even inadequate weather conditions.

Despite these challenges, I will continue to wood-fire my work, as the process is too close to my heart, and the results speak for themselves.