In all creative endeavors, there is the idea of the outcome and there is the actual outcome. John Vigeland knew this ahead of the first loading and firing of the new wood kiln on Friend’s Lane, a project years in the making and a valiant return to East Fork’s origins. He anticipated the highs and lows, the vision versus the reality, and still, even with test fires in the factory, skillful planning, and measured expectations, the result yielded its surprises. Even so, the wood-fired collection sold out online in two minutes flat.
I wish I could copy and paste the entire thank-you note John sent to the East Fork group chat last week, which was humble and gracious and made everyone’s hearts swell three sizes. He expressed a profound gratitude for the recent wood-firing, a firing that was documented and supported by a whole gaggle of East Fork people including glaze experts, facilities engineers, production specialists, the marketing and creative teams, potters, photographers, family and longtime friends. You can read more about the process ahead of the firing here.
With the first firing behind him, John ponders the larger meaning of the time he spent. I hope you’ll spend time with his words and heartfelt reflection.
—Keia
From John:
I've always felt a nagging anxiety to figure out a way to spend my time well. Call it capitalist urgency, call it holy dissatisfaction, the feeling remains.
Defining “well” is the first tricky part, and then orienting my life towards it, the next. Though the definition is maybe not so mysterious: I feel a lack in its absence, and the passion of devotion finds me in its presence.
For me, it's the pursuit of art, or craft, call it what you will. More specifically: organizing the material world around me in a way that attempts to adequately worship the miracle of the present moment. To create a resonance between an inner sound and an outward material reality. That work requires an attention to the previous moments that have come before, to understand what has remained good and true across time and bringing that understanding to bear here and now.
Traditional pottery suits me.
Orienting my life in this direction is a bit harder. We are all well aware of the exigencies of our own daily lives that require roles of us we’d rather not fill. Now that I'm here and I've gotten what I wished for, the rareness of the possibility I’m afforded scares me. Don't squander it. Don't screw this up. What if nobody cares?
On that last concern, you all have given me some comfort. When we hosted our first sale of the gas fired pottery that would become the standard East Fork line in 2010, no one showed up. It was easy to imagine that our current customer base wouldn't be interested in the “old fashioned” work. Though we had less inventory for sale this firing than I would have liked, it was so heartening to see it all find a home so quickly. My gratitude is deep.
My college chaplain read a poem at my graduation 20 years ago that has stuck with me ever since. Specifically, the line, “The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.” My natural disposition isn’t really suited to being the center of attention, and these last few months have pushed that boundary for me a bit, but if there is a flavor of fame that sounds alright to me, that’s the sort. If something I made can hold someone’s attention, give them pleasure, and accompany them through time, that's enough.
This firing is the first of what I hope to be at least 100, across decades if I'm lucky. It's an honour and a privilege that I’ll get to share them with you all.
Watch more of the wood-firing process here.
