Anagama
dance of the flame
There are moments in life when time seems to hold its breath. Standing in front of the anagama, I stared straight into the dragon’s mouth. I recall simultaneously recoiling from the immense heat and being drawn towards it, mesmerized by the dance of the flame.
Firing an anagama for the first time was a transcendent experience – a journey of discovery and surrender to forces far greater than myself.
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The whole experience was serendipitous. I had been searching for a wood-fired kiln for a while and heard about an upcoming firing through word of mouth. After quick research and calls with the firing crew, adrenaline was coursing through my veins. The anagama was built by Daniel Stark in 1991 and fired only four times. I had already blocked time off that happened to align with the upcoming firing schedule, and I had exactly three weeks to produce a few wares and be on my way for an adventure with strangers at an off-the-grid cabin in the woods. I knew it was something I had to do.
An anagama, meaning “cave kiln” in Japanese, is the oldest type of traditional wood-fired kiln. It is a long sloped tunnel that is a single chamber for the wares and firebox together. Many anagamas have stepped floors for ease of stacking, but this one has a sloped floor of about 15 degrees. The kiln is loaded from the back to the front, starting at the narrow flue at the top of the slope and working your way backwards to the door, which is the firebox.
Careful planning is needed to load an anagama as the temperature, heatwork, and amount of ash deposit differs a considerable amount between the back and the front, and between the ceiling and the floor. The path of the flame, and therefore everything else defined by the firing, is greatly influenced by how the pots are loaded. Pots must be placed in a way that encourages the flame to linger and meander its way around the pots, depositing ash and imprinting heat. Thoughtful spacing and placement creates pressure gradients that coax the flame down and through the wares, rather than the path of least resistance along the top of the kiln, bypassing the wares. The front of the kiln at the firebox is the most coveted location, producing heavy ash deposits and a diverse palette of earth tones.
we watched as flames licked the sky
Over two days we glazed, wadded, and loaded the kiln; then bricked up and sealed the door; and then candled the kiln overnight. With every opening of the door and every log we threw into the dragon’s mouth, we watched the pyrometer move up and down. We watched the flame lick the night sky, and the dragon’s breath go from white to black to white again. Time blurred as stoking became an unbroken ritual, each log of wood consumed by the glowing embers and ash swirling around the pots, shaping the fate of everything inside.
We impatiently opened the kiln several days later, taking turns to crawl into the tunnel while the walls, shelves and wares still radiated heat. It felt like we unearthed something ancient. No two pieces were alike, with blushing shades of flame-kissed surfaces, deeply charred patterns, a celestial dusting of ash, and a beautiful palette of earthy reds, greens, yellows, and browns. The pots were transformed by the fire and had left its artistic mark.
Firing the anagama was a dialogue with our ancestors, embracing the unpredictable beauty found in the inexplicable forces of nature. The long and laborious process taught me how transformation requires both intention and surrender. I walked away changed, with a deeper understanding in things as they are.
