August 2026 Monthly Analysis of Progress

So here it is, folks. My last ever MA blog post.

It’s been a chore to write all these posts, and it isn’t something I get much from. That said, there has been some joy in the nostalgic posts, interest in the research posts, and progress in the journal posts. I’m mostly just stunned that people actually read this nonsense at all. I do wonder how you have even discovered this blog, as I really don’t promote it. Anyhoo, on with it, Maxipoppins!

August started with the making of my tableau of Scrawny and Deaders, a piece I named Loved to Death. The narrative is based on the poem Deaders and focuses on the moment when Scrawny hugs Deaders to death. I had created the design some time ago and had finally reached the point in my MA where I had both the time and the opportunity to make it.

I started with the plinth. I made it to the size of my kiln shelves, which was roughly big enough to accommodate the large piece I wanted to create. I slab-built the design, adding mark making, extruded detailing and a plaque bearing the name of the piece. The engineering inside the plinth incorporated the necessary airflow holes within the reinforced structure, as well as a hole in the base. The intention was to make sure that the piece could dry and fire successfully despite its size and complexity.

My only real issue was the heatwave that happened during the making, which played havoc with the stoneware clay drying out far more quickly than I wanted.

A few days after making the plinth, cracks appeared at the corners despite it being wrapped in plastic. After assessing the damage, I decided to lift the top off and reattach it. As it was fixed solidly to the support structures inside, I opted to reattach just the sides to the slabs. I used vinegar to give the slip some extra oomph and then blended everything back in, carefully pattern matching the mark making on the surface. I wrapped the whole piece tightly in plastic and then turned it over so that the weight of the piece would aid the adhesion of the top.

It appeared to work. There were no cracks.

My next task was to make Deaders. I decided to make him first so that I could then make Scrawny to the exact size needed to work with both the plinth and the mouse. As I was battling the heat again, I made efficient use of my damp box. I made Deaders minus his ears and tail, as I decided these could be added once he was attached to Scrawny.

I followed Deaders with the component parts for Scrawny. He was too large to fit into my damp box, and plastic wrap wasn’t really an option for a piece of his shape. Instead, I kept everything in the moisture-controlled box and decided that I would do the final build in one hit, early in the morning, to avoid as much of the heat as possible.

At this point, the making became a rather careful exercise in balancing ambition with the behaviour of the material. The scale and construction of the piece meant that I couldn’t simply treat it as a collection of separate ceramic components. Every decision had consequences for the movement of moisture, drying and ultimately firing. The heatwave made this more obvious, but the problem was already inherent in the scale of the work.

I started by turning the plinth over and getting it onto a kiln shelf. I added malachite underneath the piece to allow for movement and help prevent cracking during drying and firing. In the end, the plinth held, the cat went on very easily and Deaders was adhered to Scrawny with ease. Adding the arms, ears and tails also went to plan.

All the pieces are engineered so that moisture can flow through them, into the plinth and then out through the base. It went together surprisingly quickly.

Next came the drying.

It sounds so simple. It wasn’t.

The base was far thicker than the rest of the piece and contained the hidden structural support. I covered the top completely and left the plinth slightly more exposed. After a few days, I loosened off the covering and eventually left the piece completely uncovered. At one point, a crack appeared in the plinth again, but I fixed this with the vinegar slip and reinstated the marks on the surface.

All was good.

By the time the piece was ready to bisque fire to cone 04, it was dry, crack-free and I was happy.

In the meantime, I set about glazing the three busts, starting with applying the dirty wash. This always takes longer than I anticipate. It’s the washing-back aspect that is so time consuming, but it is also an important part of how I achieve the surface I want. The process removes much of the glaze and leaves deposits within the texture and mark making, giving the pieces the aged, dirty quality that has become increasingly important to the visual language of my work.

I used Spectrum Wrought Iron, which fires at cone 05, accompanied by Mayco Matte Transparent, slightly watered down. This was partly to take into account the very tiny crack in Lady D. I saw no point in using higher-fired glazes when there was a possibility that the additional heat could allow the crack to open further.

All went to plan and I was pleased with the results when all three pieces came out of the kiln.

By this point, Loved to Death was dry enough to fire to bisque. Upon opening the kiln, all appeared well, except for a hairline crack in the same place on the plinth. It wasn’t too long, but it did need considering in terms of firing and glazing. I decided to apply the dirty glaze to Deaders, Scrawny’s claws and the name plaque. At this point, I refired the piece to cone 06, around 998°C.

The crack opened up slightly more and now ran all the way along, just under the top.

Darn it...

My original intention had been to use an Amaco Saturation Metallic glaze and fire to cone 5. The crack changed that plan completely. I needed to fire low, preferably no hotter than the piece had already been fired. Rather than trying to force the original idea onto a piece that was clearly telling me it wanted something else, I changed direction and opted for Spectrum Wrought Iron and the watered-down Mayco Matte Transparent, as I had used on the busts, together with a gloss crackle glaze that Rob had given me the recipe for.

I did test tiles for all three glazes to check that they would fire happily together. They did, although I was surprised to find that the crackle glaze worked better as a single coat, despite testing between one and six coats on the tiles.

In the end, the piece came out well, although the crack is still somewhat visible.

Interestingly, the crackle glaze also performed differently on the finished piece, with the cracks being far tighter despite using the same application method. This was a useful reminder that glaze testing can only tell me so much. A test tile is controlled and predictable; a large, complex, engineered form with different thicknesses, surfaces and construction methods is another matter entirely.

I think it is passable, and I’m probably being over-critical. More importantly, I managed to respond to an unexpected material problem without compromising the piece or trying to disguise what had happened. In a strange way, the crack became part of the history of the object. The making process is visible in it, whether I intended it to be or not.

August was also a time for me to think about how I wanted to present my work in the exhibition. This isn’t something I have much experience with, and there is the added need to display my narratives in the form of Marginalia: A Register of Peculiar Denizens. I didn’t want to simply put the book on a table next to the ceramic pieces and expect people to understand that it was part of the same world.

Research was required.

Eventually, I will need to display the book on whatever stand I have at ceramic fairs, so it seemed worthwhile taking some time to find a solution that would work in both situations. I researched Victorian book stands, lecterns and writing desks. Eventually, I settled on a writing slope and found one of a small enough size in need of restoration on eBay.

I decided that my most suitable character for using a writing slope would be Deaders.

This seemed entirely appropriate.

Feeling motivated and enthused, I set about sourcing all kinds of added paraphernalia that might be used by a Victorian dead mouse to maintain his correspondence. Searching online, I managed to find an inkwell, a dip pen, a candle holder and a pair of pince-nez, all antique but not costing a fortune. I added some sealing wax and a stamp that I already had, then set about designing stamps and watermarked paper and envelopes from Rat & Rook Company Stationers.

These could sit inside the box alongside leaflets that Deaders may have collected and stored, all appropriate to the period.

This was perhaps one of the more interesting developments in my thinking during the month. The writing slope started as a practical solution to a display problem, but quickly became another way of extending the narrative world around the ceramics. Rather than simply displaying Marginalia, I could create an environment in which the book made sense. The objects surrounding it provide clues about the character and his life without needing to explain everything directly.

This is becoming increasingly important to my practice. The ceramics are not really intended to exist as isolated objects. They belong to a wider fictional world, and the objects, texts and ephemera surrounding them can provide another route into that world for the viewer. The writing slope therefore became both a display mechanism and a narrative device.

Restoring the box involved messy varnish stripping, accompanied by washing and sanding the wood. I added an engraved brass plaque stating ‘Jago Deaders RIP’, which I dirtied up somewhat. Inside the box, I lined it with deep red baize. Finally, I finished the lid with some brass corners and a brass cabinet handle that the book could rest on without slipping off.

All told, it was a fun project that I found delight and humour in.

It also felt like a fitting way to end the MA. Throughout the course, I have become increasingly interested in how the different elements of my practice can work together: ceramics, writing, characters, objects, historical references and the physical presentation of the work. The writing slope brought several of those things together in one object, and made me think more carefully about how I want an audience to encounter the work rather than simply what I want them to see.

My last few months of the MA were very much timetabled, and I had factored in a two-week contingency. As it turned out, I didn’t need these two weeks, but having them available allowed me to take some time to think about displaying my work and to get some photographs taken to update my website. Obviously, it also allowed me to make the writing slope.

This was an unexpected benefit of being slightly ahead of schedule. Instead of filling every available day with more making, I could step back and look at the practice as a whole. After spending so much of the MA concentrating on research, development and production, having some breathing space to consider presentation and audience was useful. It has made me realise that the work doesn’t stop when the kiln opens. How it is photographed, displayed, contextualised and encountered is part of the practice too.

And so, that’s it.

My MA is finished.

My next steps will be to start focusing on developing my ceramics practice: website, accounts, fairs, galleries and the tedious necessities of social media posting. There is a whole other side to making work that apparently involves actually telling people that you have made it.

But first, a holiday followed by some proper downtime for the remainder of September, and then whatever comes next.

So, in a few short weeks, I’m putting my MA to bed.  Firstly there is my exhibition to focus on and my final assessment.  

And then, I fully intend to start writing the narratives and characters that I have carefully stored up whilst I limited myself during my MA.  I cannot wait to embark on the next steps of my grotty, grimy Victorian world and let my imagination run amok...