Elemental Magic—Latter-day Alchemy

A Primer on Ceramic Arts

The creation of ceramics is one of the oldest of human arts. Anthropologists surmise that clay-lined woven baskets fell into fires and burned all night. The results led to the accidental discovery that when fired at high temperatures, clay "vitrifies," turning into a permanent stone-like state.

Early humans found that different clay bodies had different characteristics, and that the length of the firing and the temperatures created unexpected products. They learned that by turning the hand-formed clay as it was worked, they could expand the shapes and forms. By the time the Chinese began to build huge kilns across entire hillsides—refining kaolin-based clays into porcelain, developing different glassy and matte glazes—ceramic arts had evolved from the form and function of utilitarian pottery to sheer art for beauty's sake. There are examples of celadon porcelain thousands of years old that look as if they were created yesterday. Ceramics is by its very nature, timeless. After all, it is the product of human ingenuity and creativeness, using tools and materials that come from nature.

Here's where we get to the elemental magic. Clay art is entirely accomplished with the four basic elements as they are traditionally envisioned by human beings: Earth, Water, Fire, and Wind. Over 50,000 years ago the Hopi tribe in North America carved the elements and their prophecies on the great buttes of the southwest. The philosophies of nearly every culture and civilization have embraced the elements as indicative of the powers of nature, the Gods, and of our mother world.

A century before Aristotle defined the elements in terms of qualities such as cold, moist, hot and dry, the Greek philosopher, Empedocles, wrote:

"The mighty air propels him to the sea,
The water throws him to the earth, and earth
To sunlight's fire, who yields to whirling air."

In addition to the Greeks, the elements were described by the Ayurvedic, Hebrew, Celtic, Chinese, and Egyptian philosophers, and nearly every aboriginal people on the face of the Earth.

Now, we come to the clay arts. Dig the clay out of the earth. Shape it using water to keep it flowing and slippery under the hands. Use natural implements such as sticks and stones to mark or polish the clay. Let the winds dry it. Cover it with minerals extracted from the Earth in the form of glazes. Immerse the piece into fire for hours or days, and while the fire vitrifies the clay into something magically permanent, either restrict the airflow or let the air rush in and burn the fire even hotter. In the realm of fire, in kiln or firing pit, the amount of air let into the fire makes for additional magic. Restricting airflow can cause some glazes made from copper, for example, to change from green to a rich, raspberry red in what is called a reduction firing. Raku glazes can take on jewel-like iridescence when robbed of oxygen. The techniques for doing these basic activities are endless, limited only by the imagination. They range from glazes made of salts, minerals, or ash—to earthenware to porcelain to stoneware clay bodies—to raku to pit-firing to gas, wood, or electric kilns. But when all is said and done, the basics are still the four elements.

Many ceramic artists find a spiritual connection to their craft. It is a personal artform. Whether throwing a lump of clay into a pot or cleaning and glazing a poured-slip Christmas tree, it's a one-person job, done with attention to detail—in stages. Watching the process as the piece becomes bisqueware in the initial firing, then changes magically in subsequent glaze firings, can be a soul-stirring process. Even production potters will admit that each piece, out of the thousands of mugs or teapots they make, has its own character and can result in unexpected final forms. One can undertand why Genesis likens the creation of mankind to a Deity who forms the race out of clay. The numinous magic of working with clay leads to introspection, and naturally exhibits parallels with man's spirituality as implied or engendered by the urge to understand how the world and  universe works.

The next time you see a ceramics studio, stop and take a while to watch. You'll see an almost Zen-like concentration, and hear the hushed quiet of creation. When you hold a piece of vitrified clay and sip your coffee, consider the magic that went into it. If you ever get the chance to learn ceramics, remember the sheer joy of making mudpies when you were a child. That joy waits for you in the potter's studio.