#salt fire kiln

[redreadretale]

From my listing on Poshmark: “WoodFired Footed Dish. Polka Dot exterior design & Beautiful Green Glaze inside.

This ceramic piece can be used or displayed. It makes a nice soy dish for dipping sushi or salt pinch pot,

Made by hand in the Minge Sota (sp?) and wabi sabi styles- drawing from both ancient & modern inspirations & fired in an Anagama Kiln. The exterior design is a multi step decorating process using wax resist & slips . One slip is a light yellow hue, the other dark. Black/blue. The darker side has wood ash on it from this unique & old Japanese firing style. The clay body is stoneware. The artist/potter chop mark is missing. But its made by ARTjgm.

It can go in the dishwasher & microwave but do not put it on the stove/oven - do not thermal shock it. 1 tiny chip on the top edge, but don’t consider it a flaw by the nature of this aesthetic style. Natural variations in surface and form from the hand forming & special firing processes.

This piece has some flashing’. Flashing is a desirable effect from atmospheric firing, leaving unique pink, red, orange, yellow hues. This kiln goes to over 2400 degrees Fahrenheit. It’s a very labor intensive firing process which increases its cost & value.

Comes in a box for safekeeping or gifting.

I am downsizing & selling my art collection. This was a part of my collection. Its about 3.75 x 2 inches.

I will float box it - proper way to ship breakables. “

Find lots of unique ceramic art for sale at RedReadRetale on Poshmark :)

[darewolfcreates]

Some old shopping channel videos that partially recorded over my cartoons as a kid, thought I'd upload them here for archival purposes (2/3)

BEHOLD. CUP. that's vaguely triangular- Made this during the fever of having like 2 weeks to throw 50 pieces. I died a few times but I'm ok. This piece was fired in a wood fired salt kiln. Finally got to have an (2) over night shift! Was very fun.

I swear it's not as wobbly in person- if you could see the set up I used to film this you would vomit. Don't get me wrong. It's not my best work, but the fact this was held up on several scrap pieces of wood from the burn pile and then sat on top of a folded up pillowcase that I couldn't remove a ridge in the middle from making it even more wonky. BUT I DIGRESS.

[fuck-kirk]

I’ve been awake for 38 hours. It is BED time.

[rexroads]

most of my last glaze load + some things I threw the other day

[everlastiingiimmortals]

Before Veritas Ratio, there was Andreas Costas.

Andreas of the Coast. A fitting name, for the boy's earliest memories are filled with the sound of waves washing against the shore and the smell of salt on the wind. Despite what Dr. Ratio's demeanor and attire may lead one to believe, Andreas was a boy of humble beginnings, growing up on the outskirts of a small port city. His days were spent with marble and sand, waiting with his mother for his father to return from the sea. With him always came the smell of the ocean, and especially of fish.

The fisherman could never quite understand the way his son hovered around his side while he gutted and cleaned the fish for the market, and yet wrinkled his nose and refused to touch the slime-slick scales all the same. He paid no mind, nor tried to insist that the boy familiarize himself with the fishery; the boy's hands were more like his mother's after all, slender and made for working with clay and paper. Instead, the fisherman regaled him with tales of the ocean. From his father, Andreas learned of the winds and tides, of the delicate balance of the ecosystems and the fish that came with the currents. He learned of all the things that lived beneath the waves, as much as his father could tell him.

And on those days that his father was out to sea, Andreas sat with his mother, listened to her music, and watched her throw clay. From her he learned of the balance in clay mixtures, and that a sturdy base and even distribution made for the best πίθος. He learned of the control needed in firing a pot in a kiln. He watched her paint. From his mother, Andreas learned of the stories she painted and the history in every stroke of her brush.

And when his father was away but he was too restless to stay inside, Andreas went to swim, or he would go to the old farmer at the other end of the valley. The farmer let him pick ripe fruit to take back to his mother, in return for caring for and exercising his horses. And from the farmer, Andreas learned of the growing seasons and how to care for the land, of which fruit was best to eat throughout the year, of foraging and simple remedies that one could make by hand.

This boy pestered all three constantly with questions, and such was how they lived —Andreas, his parents, and the old farmer across the way. He learned of practical things from them, and he was content in what he could glean from them. Then one day, Andreas met a red-haired girl in a white dress who asked him what he thought was beyond the sea, and his parents and the farmer found then that they no longer held the answers to his questions.

So Andreas was sent to school in the hopes that he could be provided with the answers he sought. In reality, the boy became insatiable. Hands that held baskets of fruit now held bundles of books. Hours on the beach turned to hours spent in his local library, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough. He read before bed, he read at the dinner table, he read while he walked to the market. Every waking hour was spent studying. What he was pursuing, enflamed by his childhood friend, his parents could never quite tell.

It continued like that until the day she went missing.

And then it worsened.

Perhaps it was his grief that twisted his tongue into combative jabs at his peers, or that compelled him to shut out the rest of the world. He never did say, not even to his parents, but it was clear that he refused to accept her fate. If anything, it only seemed to spur him further in his pursuit of his studies.

Professor Rond, his mathematics teacher in middle school, took note of his drive and talent, and the rest is history. From here, Veritas Ratio was born: truth and reason in the Laurelian language of education, proof of his dedication to his ideology as he packed his bags, said goodbye to his mother and father, and left home, leaving Andreas to remain on the shore.

Over time, he focused on bigger goals, incensed by his experiences with peers, professors, and students alike, though his friend never did quite leave his thoughts. But he didn't pursue her, not even when word of the Astral Express' return and its new navigator reached his ears. Their paths had strayed too far apart; knowing she was alive was enough.

Years pass, and he still writes to his parents, still ensures they are comfortable and healthy, still returns home to visit them and the old farmer and his beloved Professor Rond. He's taller now, even taller than his grizzled and sun-kissed father, but his father still takes his hands and says they're so much like his mother's. His mother tells him you've changed, Andraki mou. And when he waits for her to continue, she smiles. The corners of her eyes crinkle. Your drive is focused. You're doing incredible things in the universe.

He sets his bag down, kisses his mother on both cheeks.

"There is so much left to do, Mama."

Yes, but until then, sit down and have some dinner. We've been waiting for you.

Welcome home, Andrakis.

[whovianofmidgard]

Day 7 – Nerdanel & Fëanor - Creation

For @feanorianweek You can also read on AO3

“Come, Fëanáro. You are a master of jewels and metals in your own right, now let me teach you in the art of stone,” Nerdanel said, and pulled the young prince of the Noldor into her studio.

For long days Fëanor sat in Nerdanel’s lap before a pottery wheel, hands on hands on clay, shifting and moving and tangling, and creating wonders together. He stood by slabs of stone and let his lady guide hammer and chisel in his grasp. Dust and debris fell around them and got caught in red and black hair like snow.

Fëanor learned much in that time; of Nerdanel and her passions, of the skill of his hands. Sculpting will never be one of his crafts, but now he knew how to do it and do it competently.

-

“Come, Nerdanel. You may be the mistress of freeing beauty trapped inside stone, now let me teach you the art of shining lamps,” Fëanor said, and lead the lady of his heart into his workshop.

For long days Nerdanel allowed Fëanor to lean close over her shoulder as he instructed her on glass blowing, quick touches brushed here and there as they spun melting glass in the kiln, heat against body heat, reflected firelight dancing in their eyes. She stood in a beam of Laurelin, feeling his chest warm against her back, as they held sparkling glass bubbles and domes in their intertwined hands. They sang together, reminding their lamps of inner fire and light, like elflings catching fireflies in a jar, ‘till a bright blue flame ignited within.

Nerdanel learned much in that time; of Fëanor and the fire in his eyes, of the song inside her soul. Lamp making may never be one of her passions, but she knew how it was made, and she could make them sufficiently.

-

Fëanor’s sons had barely seen their father ever since they moved to Formenos in exile. He had locked himself in his forge, only making an appearance outside perhaps twice a week.

He worked tirelessly on making swords and armour for himself and his sons. They needed all his skill and ingenuity in order to protect themselves and the Silmarils.

Lining one side of his worktable were seven busts sculpted from simple salt dough, each and every one an exact copy of his sons. They seemed young but grim to his eyes, those features lovingly formed by his firm hands, looking back at him with determination.

He had not thought he’d use his wife’s craft in such a way, or even at all. Yet he was grateful for the skill, and for the one who taught him.

Soon, one by one, plumed helms adorned those busts, seven soldiers lined up in his forge. It won’t be long before those helms would sit on the heads of his seven sons.

-

Nerdanel was left alone in the wake of Darkness, all his children, his husband were gone to wage their war.

Candles and torches were in short supply, and burning wood not for warmth but light would slowly prove to be unsustainable. Yavanna would not permit the felling of more trees in the throes of her grief in losing The Trees.

Nerdanel dried her own tears, though not shed for any tree, and lit one of her last candles. The little flame sparked one in her fëa, and a sudden burst of resolve washed over her as she entered her father’s workshop. There she grabbed blowpipe and sheers, then went to work.

She blew and formed perfect spheres to best reflect and catch light, she blew perhaps hundreds of them, both big and small. She stood in the halo of hearth fire, of flickering candles, of the distant pale gleam of the stars and she sang, just as she once sang with Fëanor long ago, yet lacking his harmony. Hundreds of tiny flames flickered to life one by one, just enough to light her way in the dark.

Nerdanel carefully bundled the lamps in a basket and began her long journey through Aulë’s lands. Eventually she will reach Tirion, then continue on to ransacked Alqualondë, and Nerdanel, daughter of Mahtan, estranged wife of Fëanor, will offer her lamps to neighbours, kin, and any elf who will accept.

[mine-crafting]

Alright, just loaded into the spawn for Requiem. Plateau biome, heavy forests, signs of plenty sedimentary rocks. Awesome! I'll grab the seed and add it to this post when I get the chance.

Quails have been spotted. I think they're a pair. Knapping a javelin and an axe, alongside a knife to get straw for my pit kiln. Nevermind, those are grouse. Also found some Musk Ox!! Killed them for both their wool and meat.

On another note, look what I found :3

A snowberry bush! Hopefully I can stick around long enough for it to produce some fruit before I can grab it. Also, My axe broke soon after I took this photo. So, I made myself a new one.

Quickly made a firepit so I can start cooking all the meat I have from killing the Musk Oxen. I don't need the food at the moment, but I need it to not spoil within a week and I don't have any salt yet, so cooking it is!

The meat cooked well, had to use some of my logs for fuel because i ran out of the fallen leaves. It happens! Anyways, I marked the coords down so if I need to return here, I know where to go.

I gotta find some clay soon, I'm pretty sure I found a deposit nearby, but I gotta get some water before I start digging it up. I traveled down to the nearby lake that I could see on my minimap, and caught some fish! :D

It was starting to get dark at this point so I went and returned to my bush, but also turned on fullbright. I get having an immersive experience or something, but I cannot do night-time combat without my fullbright. Sorry.

We cook!

After all the fish were done, I went and found that clay deposit! I wanted to get some ceramics ASAP. I wanted a pan to pan for copper, and a nice jug for my water, alongside extra storage.

Also, yeah. I play with hitboxes on. I love it... the cubes are cubed more...

I tore up this hillside in my search for clay. Mmm.. clay..

Got a bunch to save for later, and to make into molds and such right now. At that, I returned to my silly campfire. Well, pile of rocks without any fuel. Anyways, I began to make a pit kiln and decided what I was gonna do.

My first batch was going to be 2 water jugs, 2 containers. Not the large ones. The next one was going to be a pan, a saw mold, a pickaxe mold, and an ingot mold. I needed all of these later on, so I might as well just get to work :)

So I put those in the kiln and fired it!

My kilns!

And that's where I'm ending this update! Writing this was a process, so I might think of a new way to edit and post these updates... hm...

Unsure!

[maple-seed]

Thrown - Chapter 19: The Tempering Flame

Summary: Loki helps you fire pottery and has a minor fight with his own demons.

Word Count: 3,341

Author's Note: I have BIG feelings about DUMB superhero movies and I have to get them out.

Masterlist

Loki noted you were nowhere to be seen as they passed your farm on their way into town. You weren't in your studio, at least not at your wheel by the window. The only occupants in the field were Breidr and Goat, the latter walked along the top of the wall and bleated annoyingly as they passed. Nothing of particular note happened in town. Thor had some quick legal business to attend to and there was something to sort out at the post office. Loki felt they received fewer stares these days. Perhaps it was simply becoming more commonplace to see Asgardians in town.

On their way home, their luck changed. You were pushing open the doors on the large barn in your field. The brothers stopped at your wall and watched. When you turned and spotted them you grinned and threw your hands over your head.

"Boys!" Loki briefly wondered when that epithet had become endearing. "Just the gods I wanted to see!" You had made your way to them, Ash immediately placing his front feet on top of the wall to receive Thor's attentions. "What are you guys doing tonight? Want to help me stay awake for hours?" Loki exchanged a confused look with Thor. "I beg your pardon?" "I have a salt fire going. Timing is important. I started it later than I should have and now I'm going to have to stay up most of the night. It'll be easier with friends. No pressure, though."

Thor looked disappointed. "I'm afraid I have an early morning. A meeting." Loki was very quick to follow. "I can be of service." Thor turned to him, not terribly surprised. "You aren't joining me, then?" "The lady needs assistance." He stated plainly as he gestured toward you. Thor heaved a resigned sigh. You smiled as you opened the gate for them. "Come on, Thor. You can still come inside for dinner, even if you're no help at all." You shot him a wink. He chuckled as he followed. "That is an offer I will never decline. Perhaps some day I'll be of use." "It's important to have something to aspire to." Loki quipped. You laughed.

The brothers were setting the table while you put the finishing touches on the meal. "What is a salt fire?" Thor asked as he set down a plate. "It's a firing technique. It uses salt." Thor stopped, straightened, and simply stared at you. You glanced at him over your shoulder and broke into laughter. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself." You gave him an apologetic grin. "You add salt to the kiln mid-fire. It burns up and changes the gases present in the kiln, which affects the chemistry of the glazes. You'll get different colors. It'll also add a coating to the clay. Here." You rummaged in a cabinet and pulled out a cup and handed it to Thor, who examined it before handing it to Loki. It had a mottled blue-and-white glaze that stopped a couple inches from the bottom. The exposed clay was a sort of matte metallic black, like graphite. "It's a more involved process than a regular firing but you get a nice variety."

Dinner proceeds as it normally does; conversation is friendly and the room is filled with laughter and Thor gets up for a second helping. At some point you had offhandedly mentioned something about a deer in the field and Loki had to cut Thor off before he could delve into the Elk Story. It was the only moment of friction in the meal. Eventually you gathered up the mismatched dishes and Thor warned Loki not to cause trouble (Loki, naturally, was highly insulted) before you bid him goodnight.

When you closed the door you turned to Loki with a smirk. "Are you using me to avoid another meeting?" "I'll remind you that the first time was entirely your idea. If it offends your principles you shouldn't have set such a precedent." "Alright, you got me there." Loki took a seat in an armchair. "In truth, tomorrow's meeting wouldn't be difficult to suffer through. It's with the Æsir elders. However, I wouldn't have much to contribute. My absence certainly won't be lamented." You flopped down on the end of the couch nearest his chair. "You sure they won't need someone to talk about how much Earth sucks?" "No, they're all from Asgard. They're already well aware." You scoffed. "I don't know why I thought it would be fun to be friends with an alien god." Loki quirked a brow. "Friends?" "Yeah. We are friends, aren't we?"

Your tone was casual enough, but the tension in your posture gave you away. You were nervous about his answer. There was a part of him that couldn't believe that he cared that you were nervous. However, he supposed, only a fool would continue down the path denial he'd previously walked.

"I suppose we must be." His tone was indifferent as he inspected his nails. "It's the only explanation as to why I allow you to speak to me the way you do." You laughed. "I speak to you with every ounce of respect due, your majesty." "Only a king or queen is referred to as 'majesty'. You can call me 'your highness.' You would know this if you had any sense of decorum." You tossed a throw pillow at him. Naturally, he blocked it with ease. "This is only illustrating my point." "A thousand apologies, your highness." "It doesn't count if you're being insincere."

The conversation turned to books the both of you were reading and whether he would be joining you at the market this weekend (he would). You were in the middle of a story about Gerdy when an alarm began chiming on your phone.

"Oh, hey, time to check the kiln."

He followed as you left through the back door. Ash went loping around the field as you led Loki to the large barn. The barn had its doors open at each end, he could see the moonlit field on the far side, and it was filled with shelves and shelves of pottery in various states of completion. Despite the chill air outside, it was quite warm in here, even with the doors open. In the center there were two structures built from pale yellow bricks. One had an orange glow peeking out from the crevices. There was the low roaring sound of fire and as the two of you drew closer Loki could see ports along the bottom of the brick structure where pipes entered and were spouting flames inside.

It was almost uncomfortably hot directly next to the kiln. You picked up a thick, scorched-looking mat and used it to remove a brick that was jutting out from the wall of the structure. You peered inside then motioned for Loki to do the same. Through the porthole he could see a shelf covered in ceramic items, and on the edge of the shelf there was a row of small white spikes standing vertically. Well, most of them were. One had folded over on itself.

You placed the brick back in its spot. "Those are called 'cones'. They melt at different temperatures, so we can know how hot the kiln is." "Seems a little rudimentary. Surely you have some sort of technology that tells you the exact temperature of each piece of pottery as well as the kiln as a whole." You adjusted a valve on a pipe. "What happened to 'you humans over-complicate everything'?" "That is precisely why I ask. This system isn't nearly contrived enough for your standards." You rolled your eyes. "You're ridiculous." "You make clay."

You were already walking back to your cottage, leaving him to follow. You sat at one end of your couch and he sat at the other while you set a new alarm on your phone.

The conversation picked up again where it left off. The two of you passed hours drifting from one subject to the next, trading stories, telling jokes. You gradually shifted from sitting forward on the couch, to tucking your legs up, eventually facing him with your head leaning against the back of the couch. Loki had caught you stifling a yawn on more than one occasion. He wasn't terribly surprised, then, when he looked up while telling a story to find you had drifted off to sleep, your temple against the headrest, your legs pulled up to your chest, tucked into the corner of the couch. You had an alarm set, so he let you rest. He sat back and considered what it meant that you fell asleep. You were comfortable here. You trusted him.

Then a voice crept up from the darkest corner of his heart to tell him: You shouldn't.

He immediately sank into the cold certainty of this statement. You naive fool, trusting him. How well did you know him, really? Hardly at all. No, it was worse than that. You knew what he was capable of, you were aware of his past. Yet you had left yourself completely vulnerable here. He glowered as he thought about the danger you were putting yourself in. He had met a dozen versions of himself, and how many of those had been trustworthy? He deserved every wary glance, every hushed whisper just out of earshot, every muttering of "Serpent-Tongue". He had done nothing to earn your trust.

He silently spiraled into self-loathing while you slept. Eventually you woke up, blinking in the light.

"Oh, Loki, I'm sorry." Your voice was rough. "You should have woken me up." "You should be more careful." You scoffed. "Geeze, go easy on me. Okay, so I should have made coffee..." "No. That's not what I meant." His jaw clenched for a moment. "You're foolish to fall asleep in the company of someone like me." You stared for a moment, then you had the audacity to laugh. Loki frowned. "This is funny to you?" You shook your head. "No, it's just.... Loki, what could you possibly do to me while I'm sleeping that you couldn't do to me while I'm awake?"

He faltered. You had a point. He was immensely stronger and faster than you, and that was without considering his seiðr. You would be powerless against him in any circumstance.

His self-hatred wasn't going to release him easily, however, so he glared at the floor. "Perhaps, then, it is unwise to keep my company at all." "Hey," You moved closer, trying to draw his eye, "we're friends, right? You can't take it back just because you're in a mood. I trust you." He looked at you now. "You would trust the would-be tyrant, the aggressor of the Battle of New York?" "Yeah, but that, that wasn't really you." "I can assure you it was." He said bitterly. "No, I know it was you." You seemed to struggle with the words. "But something was wrong, right?" That broke the spell. What did you know? He recovered from his surprise and tried to keep a level tone. "What makes you say that?" "It was Gerdy, actually." You were fiddling with your fingers in your lap. "She saw it. I have to admit I didn't really believe her at the time." You sounded ashamed of this confession. "They showed the footage on TV and when you would come on she'd point at the screen and say 'That boy is being hunted.'" You looked away again and cleared your throat. When you continued it sounded like an apology. "It wasn't until I saw you here, in person, that I knew she was right." You finally met his eyes again. "She was right, wasn't she?"

He sat back, reeling from the shift. "Very insightful, was Gerdy." "Yes, she was." You studied him for a moment. "Can you tell me?" He picked at a piece of lint on the arm of the sofa. He considered saying no. You wouldn't ask him twice. But he did attack your world. You were owed an explanation. "Are you familiar with the name 'Thanos'?" "He's dead." Loki was well aware. He would not have come to a timeline where the Mad Titan was still alive. "Thor killed him, with the Avengers." You continued. "He attacked New York and Wakanda. The stuff they said he was planning...." You trailed off and looked grim. He nodded. "Asgard was surrounded by a void. Just a pocket of emptiness, nothing." He paused to steady himself. "I... fell... into the void." Your eyes grew wide and your hand covered your mouth. He continued focusing on the sofa. "Thanos found me in the void. He... twisted my mind, to suit his purposes." He didn't look at you directly but could still see the horror in your eyes. His jaw tightened. You were too close. This room was too small. "And so I led an army to Midgard."

When he finally brought himself to look at you, your face was drawn tight, your eyes were sad. He had left many things unsaid, but you seemed to have heard them, regardless.

"I'm sorry." He looked away again while trying to find the words he wanted. "I should have been stronger." "No." Your voice was firm and fierce, when he looked back at you there was a fire in your eyes. "Loki. What Thanos did to you, why do you think he did it?" He did not have an answer. "Because it works. Those things work. To get people like him what they want." "They worked on me." He scoffed. He was startled when your hand gripped his shoulder. "No. Listen to me. It would have worked on anyone. If it hadn't been you, it would have been someone else." The latter, at least, he couldn't deny. Thanos would have come for the Tesseract with or without him. "Do you truly believe Thor could have been broken in such a way that he would attack your planet?" "Absolutely." The certainty in your voice made him nearly believe it as well. You released his shoulder and sat back. A silence settled in the room. He was not convinced that anyone could have been corrupted as he was, but he certainly wasn't going to try to argue the point with you.

"Loki, at any given moment, we're all only doing what we can."

He looked at you while those words sunk in. For just a moment he thought he saw your fingers tracing your scar. The thought was interrupted by the alarm on your phone.

"Come on, let's go check the kiln." You stood and made a point of waiting for him at the door. He couldn't help but feel that you were using this as an excuse to relieve him from this conversation. At any rate, he followed.

The barn was even warmer now. Or perhaps the temperature outside had dropped and the contrast seemed greater. You once again picked up the mat and removed the brick to peer inside. You smiled and turned to Loki, pointing to the opening. All of the cones had now melted and folded over.

"It's ready. Step back."

You replaced the brick and picked up a bucket and a scoop. Then you went around the kiln opening these portholes one at a time and tossing a few scoops of material in. Each time it was followed by a loud cracking pop.

Loki winced. "What is that sound?" "That's the moisture in the salt evaporating instantaneously." You grinned.

Surely these were temperatures that humans weren't meant to meddle with. Logically he knew that there were other things humans did that required even more heat and danger, but it still felt strange to see it. He watched you work in the orange glow of the kiln and marveled at the fact that such fragile creatures created these processes.

"Alright. A little more time to burn, now."

You returned to your kitchen and went about making coffee. You offered him the choice of coffee or tea, he took the latter. You grabbed a blanket from the couch and led him out onto the front porch and took a seat, bundling yourself up. You didn't try to revisit the previous topic. The two of you sipped your drinks, held your usual sort of conversation and spent stretches in silence, simply admiring the night. Gradually, he could see that staying awake was taking its toll on you. Your energy waned and your eyes were tired.

Your alarm went off again. He followed you one last time to the barn where you shut off valves and the roaring flames went quiet. You left the kiln sealed up, still radiating heat. You were practically dragging your feet back inside.

"Alright, that's a wrap on the night." You stifled a yawn. "Thanks for staying." "It was my pleasure. Though I do wonder why you didn't simply sleep between alarms." "This was more fun." You gave him a tired smile as you rinsed the mugs in the sink. "I'm heading to bed. You're welcome to crash on the couch, or head home. Either way." Loki considered this. "If its all the same, I think I prefer my own bed." You nodded. "Fair enough. Thanks again."

Loki saw you reach, moving as if you were going to hug him, when you abruptly stopped yourself. You laughed and looked a little embarrassed. "Goodnight, Loki." He breathed a laugh as well. "Goodnight."

**

Loki slept in late the next day, when he woke Thor had of course already left for the meeting. Alone in the quiet house, Loki thought back to last night. There were things that needed to be said. He spent some time working out how to say them. He still felt unprepared when Thor arrived home.

Loki was standing near the stove when Thor entered the kitchen. "The meeting went well?" Thor nodded and leaned against the counter. "There was progress made, though it was decidedly less than I would have liked. How was the salt fire?" "Illuminating." Loki crossed his arms while he worked up the nerve. "Thor...." Thor looked up, he seemed to see the weight on Loki's shoulders. "Yes?" "I... I know I said some things to you. When we met again on Midgard. After my time with Thanos." Thor looked somber and waited patiently. "I know that you didn't throw me into the abyss. I know that you wouldn't. My memories had been corrupted. My mind wasn't my own."

Thor nodded solemnly. He scratched at an imaginary flaw on the countertop. "I've learned much about Thanos in the time since. I met two of his daughters. I've heard what he does." Loki's eyes widened. "You met two of his daughters?" "Indeed." "And you survived?" Thor chuckled and glanced at his brother. "By the grace of the Norns, they were on our side by that time." His smile faded and he focused again on the countertop. He spoke quietly. "I should have known."

Loki watched Thor's hands tense against the edge of the counter. "I should have known. It's all so clear now. At... at the time I didn't know where we stood. Everything felt so uncertain between us." He winced and his voice cracked. "I failed you, brother. In many ways." Loki took a step forward. Thor's eyes were still downcast. "I should have defended you. I let you be imprisoned. I let them call you a villain. I should have fought harder. We lost so much time."

This apology was not entirely for him. It was for another Loki. One who was gone. How could he respond? He placed a hand on Thor's shoulder. Thor looked to him and Loki could see the anguish in his eyes. Against his better judgement, he opened his arms.

Thor immediately took the the opportunity to wrap his brother in a tight embrace. "Brother, I am sorry." His words were muffled against Loki's shoulder.

"It's alright, Thor." Loki said reassuringly as he held onto his brother. "We are all only doing what we can."

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[eyesearchedandfound]

Shoulder Jug

Salt-glaze pottery is typically stoneware featuring a glossy, translucent glaze with a slightly orange-peel texture. This effect is achieved by throwing common salt into the kiln during the high-temperature phase of firing.

These shoulder jugs were specifically designed to allow a matching butter crock to sit upside down on top of them for convenient storage.

Measures 11" tall by 7" wide

Watch this video from Larry's Antiques where he explains the benefits of the shoulder jug. https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=1486685995046920

[bigmammallama5]

learned today that my schedule is finally going to line up with getting work into our wood/soda kiln and i'm 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 i've been wanting to try soda firing

the real question is are they going to keep it at cone 06/07 or are we gonna change and take it up to 10-12 (i hope so, it could be so much better). theyre doing a high fire salt firing in sept that i wanted to be in so i hope... this might sway them to go high fire in the soda

[justashadetalkative]

What does your soul taste like?

.

Phosa: Salt

ah little kraken, bold are you. restless sailor, dauntless fighter, lower your sword, let me see your shield. ah, of course, they are but the same object. oh wave-tossed ruffian, lend me some of your mettle would you? you have been struck by the sharpest of spears yet you still stand here proudly. but off your guard, elsewhere of the battlefield, you will find your spirit can parch others. your words are but weapons crafted from your soul. little lion, sheathe your claws, or the ones you love the most will suffer. you do not have to be strong all the time love, there's nothing wrong with being soft. vulnerability is not weakness, and if it were, what's wrong with that? strength is not always your greatest tool, your heart is good. put down excalibur, and use your words. you'll find they will carry you much farther. not everything in life is a battle.

.

Linast: Mint

oh spry little dryad, spinning sprite, you drift through life as light as lion down. you are the chimes of churchbells and the laughter of faeries. gossamer and spidersilk shine from your ribs. life is fleeting, you more than anyone should know that. something we love today may never see tomorrow's sun. you pride yourself on skipping through moments, soft and merry. but you do not let your soul be tethered. is it for freedom or fear, sweetheart, that you do not let yourself be tamed? you are as fresh as and wild as bluebirds in snow, you smile at your problems before dashing away. hoping they will never catch up to you. but even nike can't run forever. you have been hurt before. but that is life. you wish to never feel that way again, but regretfully I must tell you that is nothing short of impossible. life is but part sorrow part sun, you cannot have teacups until they are burned by the kiln. oh I see the scars child, they shimmer down your chest, I see the pain in your eyes. but I also see the stardust. keep smiling, but allow tears also. you do not have to be solely wonder, fear, you are allowed to be bitter. so bite, and scream, and laugh, and love. that is what makes life worth living.

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Diamond: Rosemary

ah, the old soul, nice to meet again. the time of ages is etched into your bones, you see clearly. you've watched the heartache in this realm and sworn to solve it. but kindness without limits is self destruction. oh little leaf, strong and wise, you seek to bring peace with your presence. I'd be wrong to say you fail at this effort, but you mustn't set yourself on fire to keep others warm. you wish to please everyone, to protect them all. but if you shield the saplings from the sunlight they will never grow, and you one day will wither. protect yourself too. you know there are no happy heroes, so don't be one. be a friend. your loved ones will not forsake you for not being perseus slaying all their demons. you have your own monsters, why not meet them first before you conquer anyone else's nightmares. oh true-hearted paladin you are brave, and you are good enough. you know that right? be true to yourself, one cannot do anything saintly if they did not tend to their own wounds first.

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Clemcy: Honey

"sugared mel e lingua serpentis." sugared honey from a serpent's tongue. oh dearest, look how you gleam. how the sunlight dances off your shoulders, how the heavens shine across your wingtips. but you are hollow, hollow, hollow. even the taste of nectar can choke a man. sometimes the sweetest flowers hide the sharpest poison. you lie to yourself, the worst lie of all. you needn't be so obsessed with perfect. the greatest beauty lies in our faults. do you think the moon apologizes for their mara? no, their craters add to their glow. my dear, breathe. you are not an island, breathe, before the honey drowns you. you wish to be lovely, you long to be loved. but did aphrodite trade her powers for perfection? she did not. you can be beautiful, and also whole. be whole above anything else dear. a heart of diamonds is worth nothing if inchor oozes from it. inward. look within and question how well do you know yourself? little petal are you trying to be a god? why? can a god bloom from sullen soil? no. you are whole as you are.

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(Stolen from @oflostinfound !)

[lailoken]

For the pot made from clay: how did you find the clay for it and how will you fire it at a hot enough temperature?

We found the clay by accident while exploring the area surrounding a hidden Salt Lake. We didn't have a great container for it, so we ended up using reusable grocery bags to gather it.

As for how we fire pottery, my husband and I used magic to manifest an affordable kiln shortly after he took up potting, and then found someone local selling a functional $3,000 kiln for $100 about two weeks after.

[sniperct]

thinking about it now, I realize how much I miss the desert

not las vegas (though I miss how alive the city was and how you could do anything even at 3am, for a perpetual night owl it was great)

Vegas was dirty and brown and covered in dust and sand all the time.

The city is a dust bowl, centered in a ring of mountains.

Leave the city. Head east towards the lake.

Beautiful wildflowers in spring. Mountains painted like rainbows. Dormant Volcanoes rising from flat earth. An entire valley red like fire with multiple biomes and ancient wall paintings. If you know where to look, you can find ancient petrified wood. If you know where to look, there are places of life, beautiful refuges hidden among the landscape.

West, towards The Mountain, more painted rocks, more flowers, and evergreen forests rising up and up and up. In the winter it's covered in snow. The rest of the year there are springs and waterfalls and life ranging from chipmunks to deer and elk, herds of bighorn sheep and mountain lions. (a bit more north than west are hidden valleys)

North, into the great basin, more painted mountains, deep canyons and the oldest trees in the world. Gnarled things clinging to the cliffside, survivors thousands of years old. (and more signs of early human life from kilns to more paintings and buildings carefully preserved and restored)

South, deeper into the desert, the mountains are painted still, and there are hidden valleys and passes filled with forests. Salt flats, beautifully desolate.

[zeorlinart1]

Oval bowl. 2023. Slip combed stoneware. Fired in salt kiln.

[davlucies]

Your heart sings like a kettle And your words, they boil away like steam And a lie burns long while the truth bites quick, A heart is built for both it seems You are lonely as a church, Despite the queuing out your door I am empty as a promise, no more When the time comes, And rights have been read, I think of you often But for once I meant what I said I was salted by your hunger Now you've gone and lost your appetite And a little bird is every bit as handy in a fight I am lonely as a memory Despite the gathering 'round the fire Aren't you every bird on every wire? When the time comes And rights have been read I think on you often But for once I meant what I said Here I stay, I, I lay me down In a house by the Hill I'm dug from the rubble, And cut from the kiln

[fuck-kirk]

Don’t think I ever posted these here…but I’d like to introduce y’all to the Distinguished Gentleman Toad and his sons

I started this toad obsession last semester and am currently still rolling with it. They’re all hand sculpted, colored with underglazes and several glazes of my own recipe, and fired in a salt kiln