Posts

Organ Recital

/7 Comments/in , /by

The climb up the hill to Bradlow Knoll is without doubt an accurate indicator of the ageing process – calves are sorer, backs stiffer, breathing shallower and heart more flabbergasted than ever. Why are you doing this? it shouts. Sit down on the grass and breath slowly, you’re no spring chicken, or mountain goat. A bit more respect if you want me to go on pumping as I have these last 71 years! The problem is that one gets easily sidetracked if talking to one’s organs, and the heart is always the one that complains about things. I find conversations with my brain a lot more rewarding, my liver is slightly anxious and prone to melancholy, my lungs are no-nonsense and direct and perhaps lacking in humour. The stomach (my third favourite organ) is emotional but also stoical.

Anyway, half way up the hill, a moment to catch one’s breath was necessary, and as it was early in the morning on the first day of the new year, the fields and woods were very quiet, so that when a raven croaked overhead and landed about 20 yards away from the hedge I was sitting by, it was unaware of me (despite my pink jumper) and I could watch its corvine hopping from one patch to another, on the lookout for grubs, beetles or whatever. They are among the smartest of birds, with intelligence comparable to that of apes, and experiments have shown they are able to problem solve, use tools, plan ahead and even hold a grudge – a bit like us, in other words.

They are surprisingly large birds – the closest most people get to one is in the Tower of London where they are kept because it is said that the kingdom and the Tower will fall if the six resident ravens ever leave the fortress. These are fed twice a day by a Raven Master and dine on a special diet of mice, chicks, rats and assorted raw meats. As a special treat, they are given biscuits soaked in blood. But this one on Bradlow Hill had to work for its food, tugging and pecking between the tussocks of grass. Unfortunately, my mobile pinged as a message came through and the bird looked up and immediately flapped off towards the wood. The message was from the electricity company encouraging me to have a smart meter put in.

The rest of the journey to the top was uneventful, with the reward of sitting on CJ’s bench and soaking in the view with its manmade patchwork of fields and meadows in the distance, and with the time to consider the subtle differences in the shades of green available to walkers in the countryside – all presumably dependent on the type of grass or crop growing, chlorophyll concentrations, soil conditions, moisture levels, or fatigue or eye strain after spending too much time looking at screens (after which everything seems to have a green tint to it).

All of which brings us to ceramics and the use of green. At Peter Arscott Ceramics (PAC) the colour is rarely used by itself and seems to only work well in conjunction with another colour alongside. As you know from previous blogs, having green alongside red is very vibrant because they are complementary, or opposites on the chromatic wheel (as are blue and orange, yellow and violet). The greens we use are eider green, chromium oxide, chartreuse green and goosander green, usually combined with off red or brown stains, as in the image above, or next to a red that has been mixed with tin oxide to reduce any sharp contrast, as in the image below…….

…. or else the green itself is mixed with a little black to reduce its vibrancy, as in the image below ….

….or the overall red is no longer doing battle with the green because the green in question pulls towards yellow, as with the chartreuse green polka dots in the image below.

As with all colours, green has many associations, from nature and the environment, growth and renewal, health and healing and lots more. But let’s keep a sensible balance here and also acknowledge envy and jealousy, sickness, parrots, slime, and leprechauns. And that the former flag of Libya (1977–2011) was the only flag in the world with a single colour (green) and no design or details.

I’ve digressed. Back to ceramics: greenware is unfired clay. It’s the state in which the piece you have thrown or slab-rolled into shape sits under wraps while it dries. I use large plastic bags over them to slow down the drying process – too quick and the clay will crack. And thinner parts dry faster than thicker ones, so sometimes one has to spray with water to help the whole piece dry as uniformly as possible. This is one of the many reasons ceramicists get nervous before opening up the kiln after a firing and end up having angry conversations with their spleens when things go wrong, as in the image below.

Another kiln katastrophe

Interestingly, greenware is also the term for software distributed under the condition that the user does something to help the environment. The author expects the user to do something “green”. For example: planting a tree, eating more vegetables, or quitting smoking.

ceramic vase with decorative holes

Holey vase – this one came out intact

Quitting smoking? That sounds like a New Year’s resolution, though it turns out that of the 40% or so making resolutions every year, only 25% remain committed after a month. Worse still, less than 10% end up accomplishing them at all. Most of us actually throw in the towel in the first few weeks of January. As a result, the second Friday in January is now often called Quitters’ Day.

Kinglet vase

Nonetheless, the team at PAC (Ziggy, Spyro, Shimpo and Yours Truly) have together decided that we will:

Embrace our flaws and imperfections

Book a night under the stars

Surround ourselves with positive influences

Let go of grudges and practice forgiveness (Shimpo)

Resolve conflicts calmly and openly

Not talk when mouth full of spiders (Ziggy)

Learn a musical instrument

Trim nose and ear hair (Spyro)

Reports on progress will be made publicly in future blogs.

small black and white construct

We hope you have a happy 2026, and that it is everything you want it to be.

Nude slab-rolling?

/in , /by

It is pouring with rain today. It’s pelting down, almost showing off, as if to make up for the incredibly dry months we’ve had. You can tell from the usual image of the view of Ledbury from Bradlow Knoll that it’s been a long dry summer here in the UK.  The consequences of the lack of rain this year include declared droughts in some areas, agriculture with poor crop quality and reduced grass growth and environmental stress on rivers with low flows. It’s also meant a hot studio and the need to wear as few articles of clothing as possible without getting arrested for indecency.

Rain-god vase summoning the clouds

This has led Peter Arscott Ceramics (PAC) to consider establishing the first, and possibly only, nudist ceramic workshops in the country. “Surely”, says Spiro, “there’s a market for it? You Brits, unlike us Greeks, like to expose as much of yourselves as possible the moment the sun makes an appearance. And think of the marketing opportunities…we could call ourselves The Naked Potter” However, after proper consideration it was deemed a Health & Safety issue. It’s OK for Spiro, he’s a figment of our imagination, but for us humans? Just think of the dangers to exposed parts anywhere near a red-hot kiln, or something getting stuck in the slab roller in a moment of forgetfulness or crouching too low near the pugmill. Anyway, there already is a Naked Potter who paints bottoms onto his dishes (butt plates).

After some research, Naked Pottery turns out to be a unique art form that utilises raw, earthy clay. The term “naked” refers to the artist’s openness and vulnerability as they create, connecting deeply with the material and their creative process. The finished pieces have a distinctive organic and often flawed appearance, as the clay is fired unglazed. Sadly, potters, both historical and contemporary, seem to have worn normal clothing while working with clay.

Dancing vases

But at PAC we too connect deeply with our creative process. And as has been mentioned in previous blogs, conveying a particular emotion in an abstract ceramic piece is possible, so long as there is not too much nuance intended. Anger, excitement, horror, joy, surprise, disgust – yes, both positive and negative emotions are conveyable. Given that most people buy ceramics to take home and enhance their domestic environment, the brighter and more joyful pieces are always going to be first in the queue. “Darling, I’ve just bought this vase for the living room. It conveys a sense of shame and repugnance which I find intriguing” is hardly a winner.

When a piece is made because the maker wants to get something across which he or she believes is more important that its actual practical use, then we are straying into the realms of art, of sculpture. PAC usually strives to achieve a fine balance between functionality (vase) and art (shape, colour, size).

Supplicant piece

However, sometimes a prevailing mood can tug the hands in one direction only. In fact, the piece above (Supplicant piece) is not at all functional – unlike the Naked Potter’s pieces it has no bottom, so cannot be a vase. Isn’t it miserable? It’s begging for something, I think forgiveness, and is entirely lacking in joyfulness or delight. Only its Mum would love it.

It’s probably true that artisans know exactly what they want to do and know how they are going to do it.  At PAC we don’t know exactly what we are going to do. We know vaguely how to get there, but we don’t know which choices we are going to make. For example, we might decide to make a vase with raised arms, but until we cut the slabbed clay into the shapes, we have no idea exactly what those arms will look like. Too much pre-planning removes the element of surprise that keeps a piece fresh. Every piece is singular.

Ceramic version of Picasso’s violin

At other times, the desire to try something different takes over, when emotions are absent and all the hands want to do is to create something atypical: an architectural construct whose height and width will only just fit inside the kiln, a wall piece, a copy of Picasso’s violin, or a snake. This is the thing about clay: it’s a wondrous material which lends itself to so many interpretations that you can get carried away.

Wall piece

Carried away? Yes and no. For some time, the idea of making a twelve-foot-long ladder out of … wait for it … porcelain, yes, porcelain, has been brewing in our heads*. The Porcelain Ladder ©. A technical challenge without a doubt, but possible. And what a metaphor that would be. Imagine the resulting piece up against a wall in the Tate Gallery: functionality sabotaged by its own matter, the most sublime and delicate type of clay. Or how about a porcelain bridge over the Thames? Who would dare walk across it? Do you see where we can go with this concept? Porcelain sledgehammer? Stoneware flagpole? Fine china knuckle dusters? Ceramic combat helmets? (“Yes, that’s quite enough. The heat’s obviously got to you” says Spiro)

Large sentinel vase

It hasn’t stopped raining and the grass is already turning from dull brown to a hint of green. The various ceramic birdbaths in the garden are full and have all got a red sediment at the bottom. This, it turns out, is due to a red algae, Haematococcus pluvial, which thrives in sunlight and produces the red pigment called astaxanthin to protect itself from UV radiation. Who’d have thought – there I was blaming the dirty wood pigeons. Our wood pigeons, however unhygienic, are true art connoisseurs and prefer to scrub their armpits in the Joan Mirò bath, as pictured below with its sediment.

Ladder joke: Fred and Dave, two engineers, are puzzled and scratching their heads next to a flagpole. A girl on a bike stops and asks what’s wrong. “We have to work out the height of the flagpole, but we don’t have a ladder,” says Fred. The girl gets a wrench out of her bike saddlebag and loosens the bolts, then lays the pole flat on the ground. Next, she gets a measuring tape out. “15 metres,” she says, and rides away. “Typical woman”, says Dave. “we ask for the height and she gives us the length.”

Large construct

  • We’re hoping one of you will challenge us and prove that it’s an idea long ago made into an art piece and exhibited at a gallery.

In praise of brick

/in , /by

Bradlow Hill was a cold and finger-numbing walk on Sunday morning – and foggy too; you can hardly see the steeple of St Michael’s in the distance. It was quiet, except for the sound of St Michael’s bells tolling in the background. Click and you’ll get a short video, I’d stopped panting by then – you know you’re getting old when you’re told to slow down by your doctor and not the police. Too early for snowdrops or any plant to show itself, so I thought I’d include images of vases with daffodils in them – to remind you that Spring is always around the corner.

Turning a corner without looking, I stubbed my toe on a brick the other day. Instead of throwing it away in anger I picked it up and studied its surface texture and subtle colouring, its weight and the simplicity of its shape. “The humble brick is worthy of respect,” said Spiro (marketing director of Peter Arscott Ceramics), “but in Cyprus in my day (3rd Century BC) stone was deemed the nobler for building places of worship.” I was about to say something, but he raised his hand in that weird ecclesiastical way that Bishops have, and continued: “I hope you’re not thinking of comparing it to the pieces that come out of our kiln here at PAC?  I accept that they are made by hand, but they are hardly unique or one-off. The purpose of this website is to promote beautiful and interesting works of ceramic art – harping on about bricks would be like dancing en pointe in hobnail boots”.

Well, Spiro can sometimes get it wrong – after all, he is man who believes that goat’s yoghurt is the ambrosia of the gods. Anyway, the brick gets a raw deal. In my view it’s overlooked or dismissed, this man-made building material that dates back to 7000BC, discovered at the site of an ancient settlement around the city of Jericho. It’s entered our language too. We bang our heads against a brick wall, accuse the less intelligent of being as thick as a brick, or the barmy of being a few bricks short of a full load, and we come down on the wayward and mischievous like a ton of bricks.

Jericho. Photo A. Soblowski

So, in praise of bricks, here are some facts. The most common bricks are made from clay and heated at a 1000℃ – here at PAC our stoneware is glaze-fired at 1200℃. There is minimal waste in the production process as only an insignificant amount of minerals and moisture vanish during the heating process. Bricks are energy efficient because they hold sunlight throughout the day and release that energy after the sun goes down.

The indentation in the surface of a brick is called a frog, and debate rages over whether the bricks should be laid frog-up or frog-down. The minerals used to create a brick determine its colour. Red bricks are red because of the iron in them, higher temperature firings produce darker coloured bricks, and a London brick is yellowish because of the magnesium contained in the brick earth.

The Ledbury viaduct

The other (good) reason for talking about bricks is that there’s a new path inaugurated in Ledbury which allows you to walk under and alongside the old railway viaduct. Up close it’s a beautiful structure, satisfying because it’s both pleasing to the eye as well as practical – in terms of design, a perfect example of something built the way it was in order to fulfil its brief: to carry trains over a low dip of meadowland. Its function is its beauty.

Skew bridge over the Hereford Rd

It was built by the Colwall engineer Stephen Ballard (1804-1861) and was opened in June 1861. His brother Robert Ballard made the five million bricks used in the 19-metre high, 31-arch construction on site, or rather, his workers did – it would have been too much for one pair of hands. The result was that brickworks sprang up around Ledbury to cope with the task of providing the material to construct the viaduct. While digging the cutting by the station, Ballard’s workmen came upon the Silurian fossils of a mammoth and of a bivalve, which allowed the local geological system to be worked out (before you ask, the Silurian period began 443.8 million years ago and ended 419.2 million years ago).

Not a mammoth or a bivalve

The many workmen involved lived in temporary shelters just outside Ledbury near Wellington Heath, an area that became known as Monkey Island because of the workers climbing up and down the huge structure. As far as I know, other than the name, there is no sign left of their time here. This in turn made me think of the anonymous bricklayer whose work we take for granted, and of a poem by Jonathan Davidson, poet, writer, brick lover and author of A Commonplace, a verse of which goes:

“…And they are dumb or gone away or dead

Who cut the sweet, pale clay

Of sentences and fired them

In common kilns to make

The narratives that keep us home and dry…”

(from Brickwork by Jonathan Davidson / A Commonplace: Apples, Bricks & Other People’s Poems)

That’s enough about bricks. For reasons both complex and tedious, our kiln has had a sabbatical and only very few pieces have been made, other than a flurry of creativity when the grandchildren visited. “It’s a chance to show images of early PAC work”, says Spiro, “to show the variety and range. And by the way, this blog is getting too text heavy.” As a result, behold a scattering of ceramic images throughout.

Spiro’s friends, the goats at Bradlow, seem to be thriving. They have extraordinary eyes, like octopuses and toads, rectangular pupils that help them avoid predators, giving them a greater accuracy of depth perception in their peripheral vision. This is enhanced by a feature that lets them rotate their eyes to keep their pupils parallel with the horizon when they bend their heads low to feed – I don’t know about your eating habits, but this sounds to me a useful ability to have.  But it’s strange being stared at by a goat, it’s as if they’re thinking about something you don’t know.

Passageway under viaduct

Capriccio

/in , /by

Ceramics is more than just playing with mud, as has been discussed on this site before. It ranges from the functional and commercial to the personal and expressive, from pieces that demand no attention because they exist to hold a pile of sandwiches to pots that require effort from the viewer as you move around the object, examining details and angles that provide an emotional connection with the maker.

Tabu teapot by Angus Suttie at the Sunday Painter gallery

In London recently, and on a visit to The Sunday Painter gallery, the work of Angus Suttie (1946 – 1993) was on display. His approach was described as “tapping the subconscious to see what happens”, and he turned out work that is humorous, direct and engaged. Strong vertical or horizontal shapes, with twisted forms, holes and conduits, piled-up different forms from smaller parts, playful and probably unplanned from the start, they are “awkward and beautiful” as he himself described the work. The exhibition is on until 26th October – click here for the link, if you’re anywhere near the South Lambeth Rd, drop in.

Red and Green dancing vase – Peter Arscott Ceramics

That element of play is important. Starting out without a clear plan or design in mind can lead to all sorts of interesting outcomes, specially with hand-building when you can cut the clay and shape it as you build your piece. At Peter Arscott Ceramics the vessel is still king, and is the basis for all work, but sometimes functionality is not obvious, or, rather, not relevant, as the personality of the piece takes shape – often in a whimsical direction.

Poseur vase

“Whimsical” is such a strange-sounding word. “Whimsical derives from whim-wham, a noun from the early 16th century that originally referred to an ornamental object or trinket. Later whim-wham, with its fun sound, came to refer to a fantastic notion or odd fancy” (Merriam-Webster dictionary). So that explains it: whimsical, quirky, capricious.

Lone goat

There is nothing capricious about setting off to walk up to Bradlow Knoll – it is a serious undertaking for two-legged beings of a certain age whose gamboling days are long behind them. However, this latest walk led to an encounter which put a spring in the step, as the recent fencing layout on the hill was eventually explained by the number of goats grazing. As all walkers know “When setting out upon an important journey, it’s good luck to meet a goat.”

Apologies for my lexicographical meanderings – it’s probably a phase. There are two theories as to how the word “capricious” is derived.  It comes via French from the Italian word capriccio, which originally referred not to a sudden desire but to a sudden shiver of fear. It probably comes from the Italian capo, meaning “head,” and riccio, the word for “hedgehog” – anyone who shuddered in fear was said to have a “hedgehog head,” meaning that the person’s hair stood on end like the spines of a hedgehog.

Capriccio vase, or St Sebastian vase.

My preferred theory is the possible link to Italian word “capra”, meaning “goat,” because of the animal’s perceived whimsical nature. Anyway, they are sociable animals, intelligent and curious, and, thanks to them, coffee was first discovered when Ethiopian goat herders noticed the animals acting energetically after nibbling coffee beans, though I prefer the version where the abbot of a monastery full of lazy monks saw the effect on his goats and fed the beans to his brethren.

Cockerel vase

St Spyridon, patron saint of potters and former goat herd, known by the PAC team in the studio simply as Spiro (in charge of Marketing) is keen that we know that goats are one of the cleanest animals, though they dislike water and would rather leap over streams and puddles than step in them. They also use the sneeze sound to warn each other of danger. Fact: the pharaoh Cephranes thought that so much of his goats that he had 2,234 buried with him. Spiro also says that goat yoghurt is the best – that’s all he eats.

Autumnal vase

As you can see from the image at the start of this blog, the view from Bradlow Knoll in early October gives every appearance that summer is still with us. The only tree that is turning autumnal is the horse chestnut, and there are not many in the neighbourhood: ash, hawthorn, hazel, blackthorn, sycamore and apple are more common in Herefordshire. This time of year is all about apples and cider-making, and in the cluster of villages around Much Marcle, the Big Apple Harvest festival takes place on 12th and 13thOctober. You can visit the local orchards, see, hear and smell cider and perry being made and taste and buy many different varieties of apples, local ciders, perries and apple juices. Click here.

Michaelmas daisies

Michaelmas daisies are all out now. They are a sure sign of Autumn and are so called because they reach their peak on or around the 29 September, Michaelmas Day, or The Feast of Michael and All Angels, signifying the end of the harvest, the start of autumn and the beginning of the shorter days.

A couple invited the local vicar for Sunday dinner. While they were in the kitchen preparing the meal, the minister asked their son what they were having.
“Goat,” the little boy replied.
“Goat?” replied the vicar, “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes,” said the youngster. “I heard Dad say to Mom, ‘Today is just as good as any to have the old goat for dinner.’

The call of the cicada

/in , /by

View of the Ter, from the monastery

No slog up to Bradlow Knoll this month. Instead, a walk in the countryside outside Vic in Catalunya, to visit the ancient monastery of Sant Pere de Casserres perched high above a bend in the river Ter. Challenging because of the heat (about 34° centigrade) but rewarding for the view, and for the architecture of this 11th century Benedictine building – plus there’s a café where you can get a drink.

The nave of Sant Pere

Vic itself is an attractive city with a welcoming central square with shops and bars, and a Saturday market that beats most others into a cocked hat. There is a beautifully laid-out museum of medieval art in the old part of the city, with a collection saved from churches and monasteries in the region, including a painting of Christ’s circumcision – a rather concerned Mary looks on, unsure about the priest’s competence, while the infant Jesus seems to be rather laid back about it.

Vic is also famous for its sausages. Of course we were not there for the sausages, though many were eaten. Luckily, we were on holiday in a small coastal town, so the sea was there for cooling off, although, possibly encouraged by the heat, the cicadas were particularly noisy throughout, singing their little hearts out, high up in the pine trees, in the hope that a lady cicada might fall for their tune and, after mating, might deposit her eggs in the bark.

Cicada. Watercolour by Lisa Dearling

Never having seen a cicada before, here is what I found out about them: both male and female cicadas die within a few weeks after emerging from the soil, where they spend most of their lives at depths down to about 2.5 m (8 ft). The “singing” of male cicadas is produced principally using a special structure called a tymbal, a pair of which lies below each side of the abdominal region. The structure is buckled by muscular action and unbuckles rapidly on muscle relaxation, so quickly that to the human ear it is almost one continuous sound. Most cicadas go through a life cycle that lasts 2–5 years. Some species have much longer life cycles, such as the North American cicadas that go through either a 17-year or a 13-year life cycle. But the point is, they must be the loudest insects on the planet and once the sun sets everything seems too quiet.

Click here to listen to the cicadas

So, if you’re looking for “quiet”, then nighttime is good, or very early morning, before the sun hits the trees. Yours truly, in search of oneness with Nature and Zen-like tranquillity, walked down to a small cove at 6.30 in the morning while the cicadas were still snoring and swam accompanied only by a cormorant. Even the iPhone camera’s click seemed intrusive.

Cala Xelida at 6.30 am

Perhaps inspired by the cormorant’s ceaseless search for fish, a drive to nearby Palafrugell’s fish market followed. Once the centre of the Catalan cork industry, it now serves as a summer holiday town for residents of cities such as Barcelona and Girona. Many narrow streets emanate from Plaça Nova – a large square with bars, restaurants and boutiques, and not far is a ceramics gallery called Tejemaneje on Carrer Sant Antoni next to the market.

Tejemaneje entrance

Stepping into its cool and elegant interior is a pleasure. It is run by Jordi Tejedor, designer, artist, ceramicist and businessman, whose work is exhibited along with that of others. His is the large neanderthal figure that greets customers as they walk in, by which I mean the sculpture on display, and not Jordi.

Jumping figure copper oxide on white clay by Jordi Tejedor

.It all seemed a very long way from Peter Arscott Ceramics and the studio with the rest of the team resentful at their exclusion from a holiday in the sun – but then, as I explained to them, getting a heavy Japanese pug machine, a 200 AD Bishop of Tremithus (and patron saint of potters), as well as a spider onto an EasyJet flight would be a challenge. Furthermore, they should pity me, since a machine, a figment and an arachnid can cope with heat, whereas I, a human, am not designed for such temperatures. And the mosquitos would undoubtedly attack me too. As proof here is a drawing of my right leg after a night’s vampiric assault.

Previous mention of sausages reminds me that a  slab potter will find that there is usually a great deal of unused clay or cut-offs when making a piece. To recycle this clay, these lumps are thrown into a large bucket and soaked with water until enough is amassed to lay out on a surface to harden to the right consistency. At this point, as the clay is cut up into sections with a cheese wire, one discovers the wooden sculpting tool and the metal needle tool that disappeared so long ago. The clay cannot be too soft that it squirts out of the mill, or too hard that it impedes the action of wedging and removing any bubbles. When it is extruded as a long sausage, it is ready for use again. Not an ounce of clay is wasted, thanks to Shinto the Pugmill.

waiting to be pugged

Because patience and persistence are necessary for making pottery, given that every stage requires concentration and patience, from preparing the clay (as above) to moulding and finishing it, accepting the occasional flaw may add to the overall authenticity of the piece. It’s important to strike a balance between maintaining control and letting go – sometimes failures and setbacks are not the ends but often occasions for development.

Waving Yoohoo vase

Why am I telling you this? Well, I just want to come clean and show you two examples of what I’m talking about, from the Yoohoo series. The one above shows clearly that there is a gap between the top of the right arm and the body of the vase, caused probably by my allowing the arm to dry more quickly than the body. This was already apparent at bisque stage, but I decided to paint it and glaze fire at 1200℃ and I think the gap adds something to the piece, and gives it more movement.

Saluting Yoohoo vase

The second one  (above) has its blue arm dipping away from the rim of the vase at an angle, instead of being perpendicular – probably because its own weight dragged it one way with the extreme heat – but again, it gives the vase a certain quirkiness which makes me think of American sailors’ salutes in those Hollywood movies of the 50s. Anyway, you’re perfectly entitled to tell me I’m wrong and deluded.

Sausages in Oxford market. Photo by Kaihsu Tai

Just as you are with my constant references to sausages. Does every culture have its own sausage? The Spanish have the chorizo, the Catalans their fuet, the Germans their bratwurst, the USA their hotdog, the UK their banger, the boerewors comes from South Africa, the gyulai is Hungarian, the linguiça is Brazilian. Surely this shows that we all have more in common than not, and wouldn’t it be wonderful if the world’s problems were fixed by annual international sausage conventions?

Keep well and stay cool.

Potter Pete’s foggy day

/in /by

The view down to Ledbury

This time I groped my way up Bradlow Hill – forget the mud, the rain and the general swampy state of the countryside at present – this was different because I could not see anything in front of me. Fog shrouded everything, as you can see from the picture of the “view” above.

entrance to Frith Wood

Faced with the entrance into Frith Wood, I chickened out of groping any further and blindly banging my head on tree trunks, so turned back and walked along Green Lane in Dog Hill Wood until I reached Ledbury, an easy flat route into town, and the original pack horse trail connecting Worcester to Hereford. There are fragments of  yellowish sandstone on and around the path, formed millennia ago by sand brought by nearby rivers which settled around the tide line in layers (as it does in beaches today) when this area was a coastal stretch.

Green Lane

A great deal of Queen Anne’s Lace and alkanet, unfairly deemed a weed by gardeners, grew along the path, which was, of course, slimy with mud and is specially tricky as it leads downhill into town, but once you are near St Michael’s parish church you are safely back on dry and even surface.

alkanet

A useful angel to have on your side, St Michael the Archangel, patron saint of grocers, soldiers, doctors, mariners, paratroopers and police, and conqueror of Satan.

St Michael’s

Satan is so often depicted as a monstruous three-headed entity, or as a horned beast, half human half goat, or as a squirming dragon, but I believe he is the personification of mud. I promise that this is the last blog where I complain about mud – after all, I am a potter, and it is my source material. By the way, never buy a wig from the Devil, there will be Hell toupee.

And what about ceramics? Well, I have little to show you right now, as the big pieces I am now making take such a long time to dry before they can go into the kiln for bisque firing – and it is no good speeding up the drying process as this will cause the more exposed parts of a piece to dry more quickly that the body, thus creating tension leading to cracks. So, it is always wise to wrap the pieces in plastic to encourage uniform drying, and not to, say, expose it to the sun.

However, here is another experimental piece, not the usual vessel, more an architectural exercise. To remind yourselves of  PAC’s vessel-based work, do visit the website: https://www.peterarscott.co.uk

If you would like to read something that combines waitresses, xenophobia, the Pope and a café, here is a link to a short story of mine called Mysteron (2600 words) on Fiction on the Web. Please read it if you’re in the mood, if it is unread, then it does not exist. Click here.

stumped

On my way up to Bradlow Hill I walked past the tree stumps along Knapp Lane. The trees had been felled as they were a potential danger to traffic. I noticed that each stump had a ring of blue studs inserted evenly around the inside of the edges. What is this? One of you out there will know – please tell us.

Queen Anne’s lace

We often hear mist and fog mentioned alongside each other, but the difference is a simple matter of how far you can see through it. If you can see more than 1,000 metres it’s called mist, but if it is thicker and the visibility drops below 1,000 metres it’s called fog.

What’s a bigamist?

It’s what Italians call a thick fog.

April showers bring more than flowers.

/in , /by

The art of walking on sludge requires you to walk bow-legged and on bent knees, leaning forward if going uphill, so that by the time you reach CJ’s bench at the top of Bradlow Hill your thighs ache like a ballerina’s after five consecutive performances of Swan Lake.  By the way, someone has left a nice pair of gloves that are now wedged between the slats waiting for their owner.

England’s sewage system

The rain has been relentless in this part of the world, making the ground as soft as chocolate fondant, delaying planting and seeding by farmers, flooding many areas, reducing oxygen in the soil (think of the poor worms) and forcing water companies to allow sewage into the rivers – this last revolting image the direct result of the privatisation of water and the neglect of any control over “market forces” in the guise of hedge funds. The result is priority for shareholders’ dividends over proper investment in upgrading an outdated system that can no longer cope with the zillion turds we produce daily. Enough moaning.

Bluebells in Frith Wood

Despite the muddy pathway into Frith wood, I ventured in, knowing that you would want proof that at least some things are still as they should be. What with Ukraine, Gaza, climate change, polarized politics, and all the rest of the present gloom fest, it’s good to know that the bluebells are with us, and the wood anemones.

Anemones

On my way out of the woods I passed by a large patch of forget-me-nots. The Greek name Myosotis is a combination of “mus” and “otis” and means “mouse ear”, referring to the shape of the leaves. I’m posting the image because they are beautiful delicate blue flowers with a yellow eye and grey-green velvety leaves, and they are vibrant, heart-warming and make one smile – a reminder of a friend who is no longer with us.

Ceramics: the good news is that the new kiln is now up and running, and a first batch of vases has been glaze-fired successfully.

Big Yoohoo vase just out of the new kiln

The kiln is a Rohde front-loader called Helmut – very efficient and accurate, with a good work ethic.

Introducing Helmut.

He is extremely heavy and here I must give thanks to Steve whose knowledge of cantilevered engineering worked a treat when we moved H into position. He deserves a medal and should any of you be interested in acquiring or finding out about medals of the Great War then Steve, professional military history researcher that he is, is your man. Click here to visit his sight. So far, Helmut seems to get along with the rest of the team – it’s all change here with the introduction of Shinto the Pugmill too.

Thelonious undone.

Spiro and Ziggy are very sad that Thelonious (the old pugmill) is no longer here, and were upset to see him being loaded onto the back of a lorry by a forklift truck to be taken to the (gulp) scrapyard.

Spiro and Ziggy making a scene

It seems that nobody wants anything requiring three-phase power. If anybody is looking for an inverter designed to drive a three-phase induction motor, please get in touch – this one is an IMO iDrive2 XKL.

While writing this blog, news arrived from local MP Jesse Norman that the government has published the River Wye action plan, with up to £35 million in new funding, setting out a wide range of measures to address phosphate pollution and other environmental impacts on the Wye. It has also appointed a new River Champion for the river. All this could lead to a properly funded single collective long-term effort bringing all groups together. That’s a good result and, who knows, it may even be the first step towards the eventual re-nationalization of water.

Back to ceramics.

Stockpiling at PAC.

Here is an architectural piece made from left-overs from the slab roller. It would look better if it were 10ft high.

And before I finally abandon the issue of what can be found bobbing on the surface of our rivers:

  • What is brown and sticky?
  • A stick.

Have a good Spring.

Anatomy of a fall

/in , /by

The view from Bradlow Knoll at 10 am New Year’s Day

Pottery is just an excuse to play with mud. The material used is really nothing more than soil clay that has been mined. Mud is wet soil. Roll a ball of moist sediment into a thin string – if you can, it’s clay. It’s generally accepted now that playing with mud allows children to connect with the natural world around them, and helps develop tactile skills, boosts creativity and imagination. And it’s fun and therapeutic. And I think this applies to adults too. Using your hands to shape clay into a vessel is an ancient practice that is fulfilling, and whole cultures are identified by their pottery, after all it is one of the oldest and most widespread of artforms. Pots say a lot about people.

New Year’s Day, old moon.

But as you well know, when it’s been raining a lot in the countryside, mud becomes an enemy not a friend, and you have to take it into account when you go for a walk, specially up and down a hill like Bradlow Knoll. In the early morning of the first day of the New Year, the sky was clear after the rainfall of a few days – weighing the pros and cons, and mindful of my duty to my faithful blog readers and seeing a pale waning moon beckoning in a blue sky, I decided the omens were good for a climb up the hill and a first photo of this year’s view.

Walk in the woods vase

However, the problem with walking on claggy mud is that you have to keep your eyes on your feet the whole time. One small lapse of concentration and can send your legs into the air, so you try to step on the least wet bits along the edge of the path, head down and unable to appreciate the surrounding landscape. Which is tiring and frustrating, specially deep into Frith Wood where the dark tree cover keeps everything as damp as possible, though there was a wintry sun low in the sky that you could glimpse through the trees.

I was not really enjoying my New Year’s walk. The mud was not fun and therapeutic, though maybe the worms were enjoying it; in one acre of lands there can be more than a million worms, so I imagined them partying underfoot. There is a stretch towards the end of the walk that is surrounded on both sides by brambles so it’s difficult to use the drier edges of the path. It was here that my concentration strayed because the birdsong was so unexpected and loud. I was trying to identify all the various songs (mainly blackbird, robin and bluetit) when it happened.

Some doctors  believe that one of the biggest benefits of mud baths is that they can provide stress relief. Sitting in warm, soft mud can relax the muscles and soothe the mind. They are also thought to relieve stress, joint pain, rheumatoid arthritis and certain skin ailments. Some people use mud baths simply to chill out. What I found myself in face down was not a warm bath of mud but an unrelaxing cold and slimy one that did nothing for my self-esteem.

It was a slow-motion experience in three stages. First the right foot slid backwards, and I thought I’d land on my right knee (no big deal, I thought, just a muddy knee). Second, because it was slightly downhill, my upper body was leaning forward enough to propel me further, so I stuck out my right hand to stop things getting any worse (no big deal, just a muddy hand, as well as knee). Third, my right hand made contact with the mud and slid forward all the way until the whole right side of my body lay obligingly in the quagmire. This happened in less than a second, but it felt very gradual – it’s amazing what your brain can be doing in such a short time: surprise (this cannot be happening!), anger (I showered and put on clean clothes an hour ago in honour of this New Year, and now look!), indignity (God, I hope nobody’s looking!), curiosity (all the birds have suddenly stopped singing, are they having a quiet laugh? Do birds laugh? I must find out), and finally disappointment and petulance (I was being so careful all the way, it’s just not fair).

I met two dog walkers further on, at a fork in their path, and wondered whether they’d heard my expletives. They looked vaguely concerned at my state, and I had two choices: either I let them go along my path to see if they too slipped in the mud or I recommended the alternative path ahead of them. The Devil in me lost and I told them how to best avoid my fate – it was my first good deed of the year. By the time I got home the sun was out again low in the sky and cast a long shadow, reminding me that we’ve already had our shortest day (22 Dec), and that seemed to put things in proportion, so I blamed my shoes, which have no grip and are inappropriate for walks.

guilty shoes

Somewhere in the Frith Wood is the mud imprint of yours truly. It will last until the next rainfall, then dissolve back to its natural muddiness. Mud is the stuff of creation, used to create Adam, so how come it’s used to tarnish people? Mud is thrown at people in accusation, a name is dragged through it, anything dark and confusing is clear as mud, a person who resists change is a stick in the mud. But we potters know better, which is why I hold nothing against it, other than, occasionally, my body.

architectural pieces drying.

And ceramics? (It’s about time you mentioned them, says Spiro). Well, yes, the new kiln is yet to be connected, so I have been making pieces that have not been bisque fired and sit around waiting in the studio, like the ones in the image above, and the set of Yoohoo vases below.

Yoohoo vases waiting for a bisque firing

Also waiting for kiln connection and bisque firing are various figures and pieces made by visitors to the studio. The lynx pictured is a favourite.

Lynx by Lisa Dearling

And finally, and given that these blogs always seem to refer to woods and trees: a man walks into Frith Wood and tries to cut down a talking tree. “You can’t cut me down,” the tree exclaims, “I’m a talking tree!” The man responds, “You may be a talking tree, but you will dialogue.”

Goodbye 2023

/in /by

Possibly because it was a cold, grey, miserable day, my walk up Bradlow Hill and into Frith Wood was a lonely one. Not a single walker passed by, nor did I even see a squirrel, and there was no birdsong, except for the distant cawing of the resident raven. It was an unusually silent trudge along the woodland track, the whole atmosphere was brooding, possibly reinforced by the inactivity in the ceramics studio due to delays in connecting the new kiln – creative juices with no outlet can make a person very gloomy – and by the realization that the familiar whiff in our sitting room indicates a dead rat in the skirting boards. The smell is faint now, but building up to its peak for Christmas day.

Crouch vase at Cecilia Colman Gallery, London

Feeling uninspired, I turned a rock over with my foot to find what I expected to see: bugs scuttling away, mainly woodlice. “Aha!” I thought to myself, “here are the true companions of my walk today.” Just because they are not visible and make no sound does not mean they should not be respected as denizens of the wood, as much as the charismatic squirrels, foxes and birds, who have not bothered to make their presence felt; lethargic, pampered and entitled as they lie in their nests, dreys, lairs and setts for the day.

In praise of the woodlouse, the species is found across the UK in almost any habitat. They are flat, oval and grey with a thick exoskeleton and have seven body segments, each with a pair of legs. They are actually crustaceans, related to shrimps and crabs. Like their aquatic relatives they easily dry out, which is why they hide away in cool, damp places during the day and come out at night. To recycle copper in their diet (as their blood is copper based like all marine crustaceans) they eat their own poo, but they also munch away at decaying wood, leaf litter, fungi, fruit, dead animals, as well as other animals’ poo. By the way, eating your own poo is not recommended – do not do it at home.

Granny grunter

If you collect a few woodlice and keep them in a jar, try sniffing it after a while. They excrete ammonia through their exoskeletons, so it’s unpleasant, which is why they are called ‘stinky pigs’ in parts of the UK. They are also known as ‘chiggy pig’ (Devon), ‘gramersow’ (Cornwall), ‘sow bug’ and ‘woodpig’.

Flower vase at Cecilia Colman Gallery

They have 250 recorded names in the UK, including Billy Baker, Monkey pea, Parson’s pig, Cheese log, Daddy granfer, Granny grunter, Damper, Slate cutter, Hardy back, Penny sow, Cheesy bug and Nut bug. Probably names given by children, who are after all the ones closest to these things that crawl around on the ground, it’s children who find them under stones and under sticks, and who play with them.

Segment vase at Cecilia Colman Gallery, London

One insect I did not see was the mythical caterpillar, a beast so rare that only my granddaughter knows about it. It is half caterpillar and half cat – notice the sharp claws at the end of its many feet, the long tail and the feline head.

Cat/erpillar. Erin Arscott Richards

In an effort to be as fair as possible about bugs in general, I include images of two studio residents, a spider and a slug. Both are ceramic portraits, the spider a very accurate one of Ziggy, who as regular readers of this blog know, is in charge of fly-catching in the studio.

Ceramic portrait of Ziggy

Vases have been made in the studio, but they are not even bisque fired yet, until the new kiln is set up. Until then, pieces are available at various outlets, the most recent delivery being at the Cecilia Colman Gallery in London, where you can see the ceramics displayed here on the blog (At last, says Spiro, at least a gesture towards marketing).

Sam Slug

We wish you all a happy Christmas and a prosperous 2024. Here’s hoping it’s a better year for humanity than ’23. Celebrate properly, don’t waste time making mulled wine and other aberrations, go for the classic Dry Martini: Put your martini glass in the freezer, pour a good gin into a shaker, add a drop of Dry Vermouth (only a drop!) and put it in the freezer. After at least 3 hours you can take it out and pour it into the frozen glass and add an olive. The first sip is the best, hold it by the stem so your fingers won’t warm it up. Here endeth the lesson.

Blue dot vase at Cecilia Colman Gallery

A man and his pet slug walk into a bar. They start drinking beer, then as the night goes on they move to cocktails, and then to brandy.  Finally, the bartender says: “Last orders.” So, the man says, “One more for me… and one more for my slug.” The bartender sets them up and they gulp them down. Suddenly the slug falls over dead. The man puts on his coat and starts to leave. The bartender says angrily: “Hey, you can’t just leave that lyin’ there.” The man replies: “That’s not a lion, that’s a slug.

Cheers, and a Happy 2024

Marmite explained

/in /by

The view from CJ’s bench on Bradlow Knoll was appropriate for the day, after all it was St Leger’s, the day of the famous horse race (Saturday 16th September) established by Colonel Barry Saint Leger in 1776 and named for him in 1778. An event for three-year-old colts and fillies, it is run annually at Doncaster, Yorkshire. The winner this year was Continuous, the last horse was Alexandroupolis. They say that Winter comes in on the tail of the last St. Leger horse, but global warming may have done for this old adage.

the last horse at the St Leger

The view was grey, misty and damp, and the leaves on the trees have yet to start turning, but the faint mulchy whiff of tired greenery was hinting at Autumn. Somebody had obviously felt the cold recently as they had left traces of a firepit in front of CJ’s bench. Or perhaps it was an impromptu BBQ. Whoever it was had also forgotten his or her disposable vape – I wonder if CJ would’ve approved of the cherry flavour.

BBQ

Given the weather, I don’t believe that a bonfire would have spread and caused a conflagration in Frith Wood. Apart from a few hot days earlier in the week, it’s been mild. Unhappily that’s not been the story in Greece or Libya, or even Canada, and tramping through the cool damp wood seemed so far removed from those weather extremes. However, even in this neck of the woods, manmade calamity lurks in the shape of the River Wye and its slow poisoning by nutrients leaching from livestock manure (about 70%) and sewage treatment works (20%). Most of the agricultural phosphate pollution is from intensive poultry production (from “What’s polluting the Wye?” – Herefordshire Wildlife Trust blog).

Wye pooper

In order to counter any black outlook that may be developing here, may we urge you to join the fight to save the river by subscribing or following Save the Wye on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. Here is the link: https://savethewye.org/what-can-you-do-to-help/

Large black and white scrawl vase

Spiro is shouting in my ear that this blog is about marketing ceramics. I have pointed out to him that having unwittingly introduced the word “black” in the context of global warming, I will now exploit its presence in the blog in as measured and respectful a way possible, and with none of the in-your-face cynicism that he always advocates.

Black and white juggler vase at there Palais des Vaches

It is hard to believe Spiro is a 3rd century Bishop of Trimythous, as well as the patron saint of potters, and frankly I am not entirely convinced by his marketing skills. Last month he joined the Ledbury Bank Holiday Carnival Parade saying it was an opportunity to sell pots to the hundreds of Ledburians lining the High Street and was deeply insulted by the pennies people were throwing into the pots he held out, unaware that this the traditional way the parade gathers income for local charities. I had to drag him away when he started berating them in his local Archaic Greek dialect, much to everyone’s amusement who thought this was part of a comedy act.

Poseur vase (Vulcan clay)

Ahem, there is an exhibition at the Palais des Vaches Gallery in Exbury from 29th September, and the theme is “Black & White”. In response to this challenge, Peter Arscott Ceramics (PAC) have made a number of pieces for the show, some are black and white glazed stoneware, and some are made from a dark clay called Vulcan stoneware which comes out of the kiln in a rich dark chocolaty black if left unglazed.

My oh my vase (Palais des caches)

One piece in particular cannot be explained, and for some reason is called Buffoon Vase and wears a top in the shape of Napoleon’s hat. It looks even more inexplicable if you remove the top and insert a flower in it (it can only take one flower, and no water, as it has a leaky bottom). It’s a “marmite” piece – some people will simply like it without having to understand its impractical character, others will just think it’s strange.

Buffoon vase

For those of you unfamiliar with marmite, it is a dark brown yeast extract spread, much liked by half the UK population, and much disliked by the other half. It is used as a metaphor for something that is an acquired taste, or something that divides opinion, like, say, Elon Musk or Nigel Farage or morris dancing.

Buffoon vase with flower

In a neat bringing-together of various themes in this blog (fish, ceramics, rivers), a recent visit to Wales included a fly-fishing lesson with Mr Jones on the banks of the beautiful Dyfi river (unpolluted and very clean, thus salmon and sea trout are happy to swim in it).

Fly-fishing lessons on the Dyfi

The result was a brown trout fished from a smaller river nearby, which was cooked and served to fourteen people on a PAC dish. Thank you Mr J.

Sacrifishal?

A man walks into a fish and chip shop with a happy trout under his arm.
“Excuse me, do you sell fish cakes?” he asks.
The owner replies, “Yes, of course we do”
“Great” the man responds, smiling at his trout, “It’s his birthday.”

With apologies for that old chestnut, farewell and goodbye.

Unhappy trout