Last night I went to the opening of a new (or, more precisely, relocated) black ceramics workshop. The event took place in a smallish room with shelves on the walls displaying a fascinating range of creations that appear to be made out of iron, but are actually earthenware. There was also a few too many people, some children, and lots of alcohol. Can you guess what happened?
Black ceramics are quite lovely. A gunmetal metalic sheen gives them quite an allure. They'd be quite at home on the mantelpiece next to your gauntlet, mace and mysterious old rusty farm impliment. The technique of creating black ceramics has been around since about 6000BC, and has a long history in Lithuania. Vilnius itself was home to black ceramics artists in the 14th century. Bits of their pots keep turning up whenever anyone renovates anything in the Old Town.
The ceramics are baked in dug-out kilns, and the blackness comes from a combination of pine smoke and iron particles within the clay that are melted in the firing process.
Black ceramic items look solid and heavy. They appear to be made from melted train tracks, but actually they are just sooty pots. I know, because one smashed about my feet. I don't know whether I bumped the shelf, or whether it was the snotty little brat on the other side who magically vanished when there was the unmistakable sound of something expensive breaking, but somehow a little pot, or an angel, or something was lying about my feet in many pieces.
Fortunately the owners of the galler were good humoured about this, but I left anyway before I could break anything else. I might go back one day when there will be less alcohol and people--especially small people--to have another look.
