I
n the spring of 1948, I thought
it would be fun to invite a few
friends over, have a potluck
supper outdoors and try this raku
thing. Aside from Bernard Leach’s
description and drawings of raku
kilns and pots in A Potter’s Book, the
only mention of raku I might have
seen was in The American Ceramic
Society Bulletin’s February 1943
issue. At the beginning of Warren
Gilbertson’s report on “Making of
Raku Ware and Its Value in the
Teaching of Beginners’ Pottery in
America,” he mentions (almost casually) that raku’s major use in Japan
was for the tea ceremony. If either
of these sources was where I first
heard about raku, I cannot remember. Regardless, I certainly didn’t
read carefully, or forgot some of
what I read.
The weather was perfect for that
first raku firing. I lived in the country, partway up Mt. Tamalpais in
Marin County, just north of San
Francisco. Each of my guests made
a couple of tea bowls, and while they
were drying, we had a fine supper
with good California wine, then got
down to the business of finishing
the bowls. They were glazed raw,
then dried again. I’d made a small
electric kiln and put it outdoors. I
don’t remember if I was first or if
one of the guests took the initiative,
but a bowl was put into the red-hot
kiln and the lid replaced. In about
a minute, there was a muffled sort
of “poof” sound. We knew what had
happened.
I turned off the kiln, and cleaned
it out with the vacuum cleaner. A
second pot was then put into the
Raku plate,
approximately
9 inches in length,
with poured and
brushed glaze
decoration.2
C