A Tale of Two Teapots

The very shallow waters left by the receding tide go nearly to the horizon line that is occupied by the sea. Beyond the foreground is a family group of three that is reflected in the still water. They are perhaps two hundred metres from the camera. Behind them is end of Southport pier. The pylons on which it stands and a modern building also reflected in the water. — Southport pier

Last autumn, the only marina within a twenty-mile radius of central Liverpool, in the northern sector, with available moorings, was Scarisbrick Marina, so that is where I spent the last winter.

Googling the options for a creative diversion, I came upon the ArtsLoft in Southport, which offered life drawing and pottery classes. A Thursday routine evolved in which I would catch the bus into town, walk to the seafront, enjoy the breeze, stop off at a café to consume a bacon barm (as baps are called in these parts) and coffee, before continuing on to my pottery class. The life drawing classes were in the evening and the models were asked to maintain each pose for between five and twenty minutes.

A photo of a charcoal drawing of a semi-nude model sitting on a chair, with one hand resting on a picture frame. The model has long hair.

About six weeks in, I arrived at the café early, and an hour later, to justify my continued occupation of the table, I ordered a pot of tea, and when it arrived I began to take an interest in the pot’s design. It occurred to me that I could make one in that afternoon’s class.

A blackboard with a couple of views of the main vessel of a teapot drawn on it, along with the lid and spout

Sam, the class tutor (who looks a bit like Kevin Rowland of Dexys Midnight Runners), began sketching out the structural requirements on a blackboard. He advised me to make two pots, to increase the chances of one of them making it through to completion.

The components of two recently thrown teapots sit on boards, which are on a work surface. Two main vessels, two spouts and two lids. The main vessels are slightly different shapes, one squatter and larger than the other. One lid is more pointy than the other. One spout narrows consistently, the other starts fat, and in the middle suddenly narrows.

My only previous experience of pottery had been a “taster session” on a work’s “Team Building Day”, a few months earlier which explains the variation in shape of the two main vessels after I’d thrown them on a potter’s wheel.

The components were left for a week to harden to a leathery consistency so that they could be trimmed. The video clip above shows my attempts at trimming the knob of one of the lids.

A charcoal drawing of a nude model who is seated on the floor. Her body is swivelled ninety degrees away from the viewer, her head is swivelled in relation to her body so that she is almost looking at the viewer.

In this task, I was hampered by the fact that the knob had a different vertical axis from the base of the lid, due to my limited throwing technique. There should be no wobbling of the trimming tool. My excuse for that is that I was holding my phone in my left hand, in order to take the clip, and so couldn’t use that hand to steady my right hand.

The main vessel of one of the tea pots is on a workbench. It has had seven holes drilled in it with a drill bit that can be seen on the bench. Around these holes is a ring consisting of hatches scored into the clay. It is onto these scorings that slip (liquid clay) is painted so that the spout, which can be seen on the worktop, can be joined to the main vessel. The lids and other spout are in the background.

Holes were drilled into the wall of the main vessel to allow the tea to pour into the spout. The spout is cut on a diagonal, using a wire, so that it can be attached to the vessel. Hatched lines are scored into the clay and slip (liquid clay) is applied between the two components to ensure a seal.

Two wooden batons sit either side of a lump of clay that has been rolled flat by a rolling pin that rests on the batons. The rolling pin is at ninety degrees to the batons.

I opted for the most basic handle-making method which involved the use of a rolling pin and a knife to create the handle-strips. More scoring and slip was required to apply them to the main vessel.

Two complete teapots are on a marbled work surface. The are still the grey colour of wet clay.

I’d decided on a prehistoric theme for decoration, so the Uffington White Horse was etched into the side of one of the pots. For the other pot, I went for a circle motif based on an ancient Chinese design that I’d seen on a bowl.

However, you are always up against the clock in a pottery class, and having got as far as inscribing the circles within circles, I realised that I wouldn’t have time to gouge out the areas around the small circles to give the desired 3D effect. Instead, to provide a similar outcome, I decided to add a hub at the centre of each pair of concentric circles.

A moment after applying the first hub I noticed an echo of this shape in the lid of the pot, and realised that my conscious mind was perhaps only just catching up with my subconscious. I summoned up the courage to ask Alice, the tutor on that particular day, if she thought my design met with ArtsLoft’s acceptability standards. She gave it her approval and so both pots were able to proceed to the bisque firing stage.

Th same two teapots are on a plain work surface and are now a white colour, having been bisque fired in a kiln.

The pots were heated up in the kiln to 980 degrees Celsius. They emerged a powdery white colour, ten percent smaller, and porous, so still able to absorb the one or two layers of glaze that could be applied. There was a small crack in the interior of one of the lids but it was not structurally significant.

Both teapots are on their sides with the lids separated from them. On the bottom can be seen the orange wax resist that prevents the glaze from adhering. The Uffington White Horse on the side of one of the pots is also orange because of the wax resist that has been applied.

Prior to dipping them in the buckets of glaze, the circular footers had to be painted with wax resist to prevent the glaze from adhering to those areas. Otherwise, the glaze on them would stick the pots to the kiln shelves as it melted and reset. Any areas of decoration that had to remain as bare clay were also painted with the wax resist, such as the Uffington White Horse.

The pots emerged from the 1240-degree glaze firing process in a vitrified state, so no longer porous, and now able to contain fluids at a range of temperatures. The heat modifies the chemical composition of the glazes, changing them from dull to vibrant hues. The white horse pot had a marble green glaze applied on top of a marble blue glaze, the other, a white glaze on top of a bright red-orange glaze.

Sam’s advice that I should make two pots in the hope of getting one over the finishing line had proved prescient because it was evident that I had dipped the white horse pot in the glaze for too many seconds.

This had resulted in a glaze-thickness that meant the lid no longer fitted, and all the holes drilled through the side of the pot, to let the tea into the spout, had sealed over, and the white horse had come out looking more like a plesiosaur than a horse.

So, the white horse pot is now only fit for being a repository of tea bags, or a flower pot, unless I decide to get brave with a Dremel drill and grinder. It is all part of the learning process though, and the other pot pours well enough.

A drawing of a nude model in white chalk on black paper. The model is facing us while sat on a rug with her arms and ankles crossed.

And so, an enjoyable stay in the Scarisbrick/Southport area has come to a close. It is goodbye to the Victorian arcades, the amusement arcades, the fun park, the hall of mirrors, and the generous sharing of skills by the tutors and classmates at the ArtsLoft (in particular Sam, Alice, Arthur, Dawn, and Vinny), plus the admirable patience of the models.