There’s something about a summertime sunset that speaks the same language as clay. Maybe it’s the way the sky slowly shifts from gold to ember, or the soft wash of rose that lingers just before night settles in. These skies feel familiar—like the inside of my kiln when it’s glowing hot, transforming earth into art.
Out here, I watch the sun slip behind the pasture, lighting the horses in warm light. The earth turns bronze, the clouds flare up with lavender and flame, and everything seems to slow down.
It’s in these moments that I notice the colors I’ve always been drawn to in my pottery—the same dusty turquoise of a fading sky, the smokey purples, the soft matte pinks like desert bloom, and the deep, rich browns that echo sunbaked dirt.
Pottery glazes are unpredictable, much like the sky. You never know exactly how a piece will come out of the fire. The heat, the minerals, the clay—all play their part.
But I think that’s why I love it. It’s a little like trusting nature to do her thing. I can add my hand and my heart, but in the end, the fire finishes the story.
These summer evenings remind me that beauty isn’t always in perfection, but in the shifting, the glowing, the fading, and the surprise. Just like a glaze that breaks over a handmade rim, or the last light touching the side of an old barn.
So when I’m glazing a new batch of pottery, I often look to the sky—especially in summer. Because no color chart can compare to the poetry of a sunset.
Until next time, be kind to each other,
xoxo
Cindy
Psalm 113:3