I wait impatiently for leaves to appear in the spring. Then
I marvel at how prolifically they do that, while I fuss because the leaves are
not yet large enough to impress me with their impressions on my clay! Soon they
abound and, with abandon, I harvest leaves until fall. I prefer large ones with
lots of pronounced veins. The real sign of my craving for natural foliage is
that I dread the threat of running out of leaves. Every autumn I collect (some types
before a frost, some after) all shapes and sizes of leaves and tuck them into
old magazines, catalogs and newspapers, depending on the size of my quarry. I
use an old drafting board I found in my father’s basement to weight the
bursting tomes, making sure that the outside edges are open to the air. In no
way does this compare with the hay mows we spent much of summer filling in my
youth, but the outcome is the same. That corner of the studio’s drying room keeps
me supplied with dry flat leaves for making pots all winter.
Now spring is well sprung and all manner of vegetation is
back with gusto. Some folks are out looking for ramps or morel mushrooms, while
I stalk especially large, fine-veined leaves. A primary source is the reviled
burdock, for which I have absolutely no competition. Burdock leaves are big and
leathery now, and the bugs have not got to them yet. I use their bottom sides, where the veins are more
strongly defined. I often have to cut out the center stem, because it is so
thick that it will cut through the clay when I roll the leaf and clay together.
Having become far more observant of leaf properties than I once was, I see that
the size of a leaf and the intricacy of its veining often do not correlate,
although some plants that grow very rapidly have surprisingly few veins, while
other large leaves have incredible webs and tangles of veins that leave great
trails in clay.
A pumpkin or a big metal bowl for form, a bunch of leaves,
and a few pounds of clay—that’s what pots are made of! I love using light buff
clay with my leaves. When the pots are dried, have been bisque fired, and are ready
to glaze, I brush on a black undercoat and then wash most of it off. What’s
left emphasizes those leafy tracks that I so admire. Then I put a clear glaze
over the entire outside. Anything goes on the inside of pots: reds, greens,
blues, yellow, or maybe mottled spice brown—or combinations. I owe those
leaves, so I wait to see what they suggest.
