A Residency in Virginia: Tomatoes, Wood-Firing, and Everything in Between

At the NCECA, I made my way to the first table filled with flyers and saw Zoë Powell. I've been following her art for quite some time, so it was a great opportunity to say hi. At that same table, I picked up a flyer advertising the Cub Creek Residency, which offered emerging artists a chance to gain wood-firing experience along with access to a huge pile of wild clay. The residency is located in the middle of nowhere in Virginia, with the nearest town, Appomattox, about 20 minutes away by car. It has been home to many artists I admire: Zoe Powell, her partner Mitch Iburg, and Takuro and Hitomi Shibata, to name just a few.

When I saw that I had to pay $650 for accommodation, I put the flyer back, thinking that paying for accommodation probably doesn’t seem as prestigious as a fully funded residency. Still, I felt drawn to this opportunity. To my surprise and delight, this was the only residency I applied to for the summer, and I got in.

After retiring from his 33-year career as a university professor, John Jessiman acquired 100 acres of land in Virginia. This land included deer, ticks carrying Lyme disease, and three types of wild clay which John discovered together with Takuro and Hitomi, who visited him and later became residents. As you enter the property, the residents' house is on the left—a huge building with two kitchens and a common area on the first floor, and three bedrooms on each side of the second floor. The internet and cell service are nearly nonexistent, despite a satellite dish right in front of the house. My husband had to do some work-related Zoom calls, and I had to keep posting on Instagram (just kidding!), so we played the role of civilized and spoiled nomads and brought our own Starlink.

The upkeep of the residents' house falls to the residents, so its cleanliness is directly tied to how responsible the previous group was. In my case, whoever lived in the house before me wasn't that responsible, as the place was filled with dust, spider webs, and literal trash. Upon arrival, I quickly turned on my OCD mode and couldn't settle until I cleaned the area where I would be living. This truly helped; the most expensive kitchen on the East Coast, filled with valuable wood-fired ceramics, was now sparkling clean and ready to use.

Cleaning the kitchen turned out to be a great idea because we ended up cooking a lot. The community near Appomattox has several amazing farmer’s markets, one of which takes place on Tuesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays in Pamplin. A friendly local woman, who clearly cares about the quality of food she eats and the environment she lives in, organized several local farmers and families who grow their own produce. Together, they brought in the best tomatoes, peaches, and cakes I’ve eaten since my childhood. Whether it's the sunny and extremely humid weather that nurtures the produce or the care with which these farmers grow their food, these tomatoes were the highlight of my month in Virginia. This is why I’m starting my story with tomatoes and not wood-firing or ceramics—I might as well end my blog post right here.

Settling Into Studio Life

The studio offered a huge space, divided into seven sections for each of the seven potential residents. As soon as I walked in, I recognized an area full of natural light and plants - this is where I would create for the entire month. I found a note on the shelf: “Plants like to be watered once a week. This is a truly magical space to work at.” I smiled and quickly found the former resident on Instagram. Turned out, she made the cup that I picked up first thing for my morning matcha and that later became my favorite to drink from.

During my stay, there were only three other residents, John’s assistant, and a former program director Rachel. I was immediately drawn to the little corner of Riley, John’s assistant, with all the variety of local wild clay and different stones neatly arranged on the shelves and the floor. He makes delicious fresh bread using the flour he mills by hand and baking it in a tiny wood kiln next to the studio. I think people who love firing a wood kiln and making glazes by crushing rocks just love making everything else from scratch - quite an impressive and inspiring endeavor. Riley was a great person to talk to about Zen during the long night shifts near the kiln which made the magical experience even more magical.

Nat had a space next to Riley. She loves kayaking and her boyfriend. She spent her time creating a huge unicorn head whose name I already forgot. She hit my car but I still love her (hi, Nat!) Bethany, my studio neighbor, while working on becoming a dentist makes extremely professional ceramics, beautiful, clean, and functional, ranging from skillful pitchers, cups, and beautiful butter bells. Thanks to her I quickly learned everything and found my way around the studio. Adrian, a high school ceramics school, was crafting sculptures with intricate designs, one of which I accidentally broke (sorry again, Adrian!). While I drove all the way from LA and thought it was a good length road trip, she drove to Virginia from her wedding to Alaska, which, I believe, is a bit farther. As a high school teacher, she was the best at navigating my emotions during the wood firing. Rachel was the best at showing me around and teaching me every single detail. She was planning to leave soon and didn’t have to help but thanks to her I felt welcomed and ready to embrace new experiences. She fostered two cats who wandered to the property, naming one of them Pepperoni, after the pizza they ate, and one of them Rio, after red iron oxide, the most ceramicky name I can imagine.

To the right of the main studio, a bit further down the road, there is a whole selection of kilns - I’m not sure if there are four, five, or six of them, but there are a lot. Johnagama, anagama, and many other gamas that I failed to properly examine and remember. There is a small test wood kiln too, affectionately known as the baby kiln, where everyone fired their pieces when there wasn’t enough ceramics to fire a huge kiln. Nearby, there is a large building with a clay room for mixing clay and a glazing room.

The property was lively but calm, with two cats roaming around and deer occasionally passing by. John lived farther away, about a 5-10 minute walk or drive. He had his own large house, studio, and a big kiln where we eventually did our main firing. John came and met me right when I arrived to help me mix the clay. Covered in powders, and too shy to bring a respirator, I bravely learned how to use the mixer for the first time and blended over 200 pounds of clay. John asked me if I ever worked with wild clay before; I said no. He responded that it takes a long time so I could just use the powders. Of course, I dag a huge bucket of wild orange clay right after because learning how to process and use local clays was one of my main goals for the residency.

On the third day after my arrival, we had our first kiln firing of the baby kiln, and I had to hurry to complete all the test pieces I wanted to make. I discovered a cool rock crusher in the shed and made a bunch of test tiles, experimenting by adding sand and various stones I collected. We fired all of these in just a day and a half, marking my first experience with wood firing. We took shifts and I wrote down careful notes about the process.

My Creative Rhythm

Settling into the residency, my first task was to clean and organize my space. This helped me feel at home and ready to dive into my work. Each day, I started with a morning yoga and meditation routine to get my energy up, and then I would head straight to the studio to work.

Depending on the stage of my projects, my daily tasks varied. My favorite part was the active phase of creating new pieces. I found joy in working with the wild clay available at the residency. I felt like a kid playing with a new toy, fully immersed in the delight of exploring the raw, earthy material. I loved the hands-on process of working with clay, but I quickly realized that I was producing pieces much faster than we could fire them. The studio space was limited, and with no separate firings for my work, I had to be mindful of the kiln capacity as well as the capacity of the Prius which we brought all the way across the continent in part to bring the huge vases back to LA. Although I was confident in my skills on the wheel and enjoyed making a high volume of pieces, I had to slow down a bit to accommodate the shared firing space. Another option was to destroy what I’ve made but…let’s say I don’t like doing it.

The calm and quiet of the rural setting was a blessing for my creative process and my mental health. It allowed me to slow down, focus, and enjoy the simple pleasures of the countryside. I started reading more. I visited several second-hand bookstores and cozy coffee shops in nearby towns where I got a stack of books, and I happily lost myself in them during downtime. In addition to the books, I skimmed through a vast archive of ceramics magazines, including no less than 300 issues of Ceramics Now, Ceramics Art and Perception, and others. Going through these magazines, I discovered many fascinating techniques and admired beautiful works from various artists, drawing inspiration for my own projects.

The Wood-Firing

The small firing was just a warm-up because the main wood firing was scheduled at the end of the residency, about three and a half weeks after my arrival. By then, I had already made some great large pieces and felt ready for this bigger challenge.

The firing process consists of several stages, starting with preparing the wood. John had already prepared a lot of wood for the larger firing, but we spent two days loading the kiln with our ceramics, deciding where each piece would go. We stacked shelves and bricked up the kiln, carefully placing my favorite pieces in the firebox—the most magical spot in the kiln where flames lick the vases, wood ash settles on the pieces, and the combination of ash, fire, and air creates incredible effects. The firebox is a high-risk, high-reward area, and I was fortunate that everything turned out well.

After two days of loading the kiln, we spent another three and a half days taking shifts to stoke the fire, feeding wood into the kiln, and keeping it alive. I had three night shifts, often working alongside Riley and Adrian, whose extensive knowledge of firing was incredibly helpful since I was still learning.

At the start of one of my shifts, I accidentally splashed myself with boiling water, which basically meant Riley had to fire a kiln mostly on his own. I tried really hard to assist as much as I could, and despite that, the shift was still a success. The kiln felt alive, especially at night; orange, hot, and glowing. Once a potter develops intuition and learns how to hear what the kiln is saying, it becomes clear whether the kiln asks for more wood, more air, or racking. As anywhere else, overthinking and panicking leads to overcontrolling, ruining the natural flow of firing. The exact timing and measuring is an option but the intuitive approach feels a lot more appealing and natural. Of course, this knowledge comes only after many many firings and years of experience but I do feel like the ability to hold space, whether it’s during the wood firing or any other ceremony can be developed.

After the firing, the kiln cooled for two to three days, and then came the much-anticipated unloading, when all the pieces were finally revealed, bringing everything to life. You can see some of the results below!

Some Reflections

While in Virginia, we took trips to Virginia Beach and Norfolk, which was where my journey in the U.S. began exactly 10 years ago. I had spent a summer working in a hotel there, and this time, I even managed to visit the same hotel. Nothing changed. When I walked in I felt the same smells, saw the same colors. I found the room where I and my two friends stayed for three months. When I walked by the laundry room I saw a familiar silhouette. It was Veronica, the housekeeper who trained us back then. The trip was a nostalgic and meaningful experience, bringing a sense of closure and a coming full circle to important chapters of my life. In the past decade, I’ve gotten married and divorced, changed homes, switched careers, explored more than 60 countries, made new friends, lost old friends, and, most importantly, found the passion of my life - art.

This residency was foundational for me. I fell in love with wood firing; it aligns perfectly with my technique and aesthetics, especially given its deep roots in Japanese ceramics with their anagama kilns. The use of local, natural materials like wild clay and rocks also became a crucial element of my practice, deepening my connection with the earth. I am certain that I will return to residencies like this one in the future, and I’m grateful that this experience served as the beginning of my journey. Whether through the technical skills I’ve gained or the personal growth I’ve experienced, this residency has laid the foundation for the next chapter of my artistic journey.