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.