Peering into the brilliant light of a 2300°F.
Flames reaching out to freedom.
Heat engulfs you.
Hell? No. Reduction.
I sought out clay at the tender age of seventeen. Not discovering a college that taught it, my life headed for the open roads of North Idaho, Washington and Alaska.
Twenty years it took to again discover the magic of clay – at the hands of a kind teacher 30 miles south of the Canadian border.
Coming full circle I am once again in East Tennessee, the home of my childhood – my hands in clay.