Claims for the earliest definitive evidence of Homo sapiens using fire range from 1.7 to 2 million years ago. It was a critical technology enabling human evolution.
They used either the natural fire started by lightning and carried it from camp to camp, or learned to start it with friction using hardwood rubbing against softwood.
-Wikipedia
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Fire provided warmth and light, protection from predators, and a means of cooking, forging better tools, and about 30,000 years ago, pottery was invented.
The Venus of Věstonice, which dates back to 29,000 - 25,000 BC, is a female figure made of bone and clay. She symbolized fertility and was discovered in a mammoth hunter’s dwelling in the Czech Republic. She is the oldest known figurine in the world and may have served a symbolic purpose. The oldest known ceramic vessels were found at the Xianrendong cave in China, dating to approximately 20,000 to 19,000 years ago. More vessels from 18,000 BC were found in Jiangxi, China. This ancient, coarsely made pottery was likely used by hunter-gatherers to extract grease from bones by suspending them over a fire.
Researching to determine the world’s oldest pottery is a frustrating enterprise, as archeologists keep digging and adjusting their knowledge of history further back with each discovery. It is indisputable, however, that pottery-making is one of the oldest crafts in the world.
Today’s mainstream ceramic ware is made from natural raw materials such as clay, silica, and feldspar, and is fired to precise specifications. Depending on the temperatures, we recognize earthenware, stoneware and porcelain. The higher the temperatures, the more durable and impermeable the finished pottery is. Glazing makes the pieces washable and is used for decorating. Conventional pottery glazes are colorfast, meaning that they are permanent and resistant to fading or changing colour over time. Because potters decorate their wares with period and local motifs, archaeologists can date their digs by the uncovered shards.
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The younger and more fickle sibling of traditional ceramics is raku. According to the History of Japanese Raku Ware, it was invented in Kyoto, Japan, in the late 16th century by the potter Tanaka Chōjirō under the guidance of the renowned tea master Sen no Rikyū. Chōjirō developed a unique style of hand-shaped, low-fired, monochrome tea bowls (black or red) that embodied the wabi philosophy of the Japanese tea ceremony, which emphasized rustic simplicity and modesty. The tradition, rooted in Zen Buddhist principles, values humility, simplicity, and tranquillity, which are embodied in the humble beauty of early Raku ware. Western ceramists discovered Japanese sacred raku pottery making in the 20th century and started experimenting. American Paul Soldner popularized raku in the late 1950s and 1960s. He did not simply replicate the traditional Japanese method and its spiritual aesthetics of the tea ceremony; instead, he developed a unique “American Raku” style.
Making raku pottery is an art, not an industry. It is made by hand or with the help of a potter’s wheel, and defined by its Japanese name, which means “enjoyment” or “a happy accident.” At its core, raku is a low-temperature firing. Professionally made raku kilns are available, but simple versions can be made for a fraction of the cost in a workshop. Kilns are basically boxes, or metal oil drums, even garbage bins lined with refractory material, with a hole in the bottom to stick in a propane or butane blow torch that provides the heat. There must be an opening on the top to serve as a chimney. The pieces to be fired are stacked on shelves supported by posts, stilts and other props.
Raku wares are taken from the kiln while glowing red hot with metal tongs, and are thrown into metal containers filled with combustible material such as sawdust, tree leaves or newspaper that immediately erupt into fire. The container is covered with a lid, causing the fire to die out once the oxygen inside is exhausted. This is called “reduction”, which creates countless colours within the glaze.
The results are highly variable pieces due to the types of kilns, the weather, and the imprecise measuring of temperatures by melting ceramic cones. An experienced operator may just keep peeking into the kiln through a peephole and decide when the firing is completed. It is hard to make two pieces with matching glaze colours. The cooling-down time is about 30 minutes. Unlike the maker of mainstream pottery, the raku artists can see the results of their work almost immediately.
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“Dad, I would like to take a course in raku pottery. Would you like to join me?” my daughter asked. Which father can turn down such an opportunity to do something with his child? I did not know what I was getting into. There was no warning: “You may be entering into a time-consuming adventure of discovery that you may find hard to exit.” The course we took was for beginners. We learned how to prepare clay by wedging, a process similar to kneading dough. We were shown how to use the potter’s wheel and how to build items freehand. I did not like the wheel from the start. I was not good at it; the clay was either too thick or too soft and kept collapsing. The problem could be resolved by practicing, but I also disliked that the wheel produced only round things. Building the pieces by hand is much more versatile, with endless possibilities.
First, I made small, standalone sculptures, then I started experimenting with “bas-relief”. In bas-relief, the design is slightly raised above the background. It lends itself to making “pictures” and “telling stories”. The result was tiles. A series of them could form a large decorative display when mounted on a wall.
When the clay pieces are dry, they are fired and are called bisques. Bisqueing hardens the clay, and it can be glazed without turning it into mud. It is in glazes where the unpredictability of raku, its charm and disappointments, lie. Colours of glazes with copper or iron oxides for pigments turn out differently depending on the weather when the pieces are fired and transferred into the containers with combustible materials. Even the same glaze will develop different colours depending on where the pieces were in the kiln, in what order they were removed, how big they were, and what combustible material was used.
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I kept only two pieces I made in the course. But my interest was piqued. I wanted to make more, although not in a group setting. I wanted to experiment unencumbered by too many instructions that tend to turn the pupil into a clone of the instructor. And I wanted to have the ability to work when inspired and not have to wait for the next lesson. I acquired a small raku kiln made from an oil drum and started working from home.
This article does not have enough space to describe all the failures, but in time, I started achieving the proper temperatures in the kiln, I learned how to stack the pieces on shelves, and which glazes were predictable and which ones were not. I started mixing my own glazes as well. It was a pure alchemy – using ingredients I had not heard of before: silica, frits (pre-melted glass), fluxes like nepheline syenite or lithium, copper and cobalt carbonates, and kaolin for “suspension”– whatever that is. Other common materials the glaze makers use are bone ash, bentonite, and tin or strontium oxides for specific effects.
More than other arts, carving, painting or sculpting, raku making requires a lot of inspiration, daring and luck. Glazes melt and blend in mysterious ways. Furthermore, on bas-relief, they tend to run in rivulets or pool on ledges, adding more special effects. There is no way of knowing what happens in the kiln. It is like the saying, “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” Every opening of the reduction containers is full of surprises. When making sets of three, five, or even more pieces, the colours on all tiles have to match or almost match. To make a set requires as many firings as there are pieces in the set. Every piece had to be in the same place in the kiln, pulled out in the same sequence, and the weather ought to be reasonably similar for the duration of the firing. The limitations imposed by the ancient technology, the materials, and the glazes kept me fully grounded and tamed some of my most audacious ideas. But when I pushed all the right buttons, the natural beauty of the materials often saved the day, and when the stars were aligned, there may have even been a few happy accidents. Not many people make raku, and even fewer venture into making tiles and decorating them with bas-reliefs. It is unique, challenging, and fun. It keeps the gray mass hopping, another benefit for an older person.