The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913, 1899-01-15

g fine pottery, tested by kiln hire, can
C@o@ o~oHo%o@o % 10000 5000 %
in Mr. Robertsons art pottery at Chel-
sea, Boston, 1 practiced under his in
struction and it became a gratifying
task to form objects of art and indi-
vidual inspiration. The knowledge of
handling clay. with the object in view
of having the work fit to undergo the
ordeal OF firing" I acquired also
through the thorough teaching of Mr..
Robertson, whom l ever found a pa
tient, but exacting master.
Thus we worked on for months, step
by step, with meager appliances, small
space and most primitive accessories.
No snorting engine. no clay presses
and mills. no 'jiggers" and stamps;
only the old. yet ever new potters'
wheel, lathe" a few tubs and sieves.
some boxes for ''blungers," Jumps of
clay and-our hands!
All, Palsy. You left an inheritance;
others followed in your footsteps. A
few hundred francs meant to you sal
walton; yet you suffered want. Now
fabulous sums are paid for supposedly
genuine pieces wrought by your hand.
THE Middleman" was not the crea-
ton of the imagination; it only tells
the tale of the poor. almost frenzied
potter who breaks up his scant furni-
ture to feed the craving fire holes of his
kiln
We were ready for our first firing
The clays had been washed, dried,
mixed. ripened and allowed to rest"
Omar KhaVVam could have
Remembered stopping by the way
To watch potter humping his wet clay,
AS it was being "wedged' ready to be
thrown into beautiful shapes.
The wheel had been humming merri-
", the disk spinning and
Turning round and round,
Without 4 pause, without sound.
The magic hands of the wizard at
the wheel had formed pieces beautiful
in shape pure in lines and delicate in
texture, that it almost seemed sacri-
lege to decorate them; but individual
thought was banishcd and here a spray
Of blossoms was modelled or painted,
there a design embossed. original, yet
vaguely recalling the crude hardiwork
of the Aztec.
There shapely Grecian ever was
carved, or a low bowl nipped and
pinched for two or three supple little
lizards to play hide and seek; or a bat
was hanging up for a rest, the plant
clay portraying the silky texture of the
delicate wings.
One by one hundreds of dainty pieces
had grown under our hands, until
quite collection of varied forms had
accumulated from the chaste Grecian
vase to the irregular. quaint shape die
tated by fanciful mind
Now we were all ready for our first
firing.
The "saggars" or cases made of clay
to hold the fine art ware were at hand;
the potter entered the kiln; one by one
the heavy "saggars" were lifted in TO
be filed, according to his never erring
judgment.
One by one they were stacked. until
the first ing" or piled up saggars
was comp d. Then the second, third
and now the fourth and last.
The work of hours. this stacking Of
the kiln, and-tight quarters for the
squeezed in worker.
Half past 10. and the kiln full.
Not another piece Well. then, just
one more but a wee one
GO in, then, little lizard, your tongue
showing already and the kiln ds yet
cold. Go in and be brave; you will nor
be alone
Hundreds Of articles, all duly
stamped with our emblem, the Califor-
Man bear and our adopted name, Rob
lin," were incased and the last 'saggar"
closed.
The earnest worker has emerged from
his tight quarters.
Hand the fire bricks and the mortar,
for time is fleeing and the firing must
begin. One by one the bricks are laid
to close the opening. Each one bears
a wish for success. Carefully, firmly
the skillfully mixed mortar is spread
and smoothed with the trowel.
Accurately the test hole is closed and
the kiln is ready.
Twenty minutes of II.
Shall we begin?"
No; let us wait for the new born
day"
Midnight.
With solemn sound the bells toll the
ending of that busy day
The last stroke. l touch the taper
to my fire and the potter and our faith
full assistant light theirs.
How I hoped. fervently, that my fire
no, not only mine, but all should kim
die and live All was right and up
went the flames, mine timidly, that of
Dave with roar the two Of the master
just right. Steady, steady.
Over the hills rose the silvery disk of
the moon like kindly old friend
sharing our long vigil.
Noisome fumes and clouds of smoke
filled the air. But it mattered not.
Carefully the fires were being tended
a draught opened or closed here, there
a fire subdued, until the four burned