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fire department

updated sat 16 may 98

 

Sue Lily on wed 26 jun 96

The Fire Department's job is to react to smoke - If you are going to make
smoke, call them up and tell them so they don't get all excited and spend
thousands of dollars in emergency response.

We have been getting permits every time we build a sweat lodge fire. It's
the polite thing to do.

Repeal the Salvage Rider,

Ms. Lily
lily@mind.net

482-9223, for now

judy motzkin on fri 15 may 98



I just read the paperclay and smoke story and thought this true story
of mine in which the fire dept actually did put it out would be of
interest:

The fire department showed up at my firing one night and they put out
the fire. I had never heard of a kiln being put out. Since 1986, I
have been firing this funky version of a pit/ saggar kiln. Half a
dozen times over these years the fire department has been called
because someone has seen or smelled the smoke from the early part of
the firing. Each time they checked out the scene, told me to stay
with it until it was done, and said they would be in touch. Each time
I continued the firing with success and never heard from them. This
time the captain said he was going to have to put it out.
"Put it out!!?" I exclaimed, " you mean with water? Everything will
crack! The kiln will be ruined!" And so it was decided to use
chemicals instead. I watched as men with protective suits sprayed
massive amounts of powdery stuff on the pots I was counting on to fill
my gallery commitments.
" What is that stuff?" I asked.
"Bicarbonate of soda."
"Cool" I thought, "perhaps I will discover some strange new and
wonderful accidental surface."
That "stuff", the next morning, was a thick layer of gunk that had
adhered to the pots and saggars, not quite hot enough in the putting
out to volatilize the soda. On refiring I have found that at low
temperatures the gunk leaves nothing desirable, but has gummed up the
surface which I have worked hard to burnish to a smooth polish. That
"stuff" must also have contained some kind of flux, as there are signs
of combustibles melted into a glassy turquoise mark.
On the following day the fire department returned to the scene to
check it out. " You can't do what you're doing without a permit," the
man said "and there is no way we will give you a permit."
Twelve years ago I chose not to ask for a permit. I knew that the
building department would require a stack that rose 10 feet higher
than any roof within 10 feet. That would have meant a 40-foot stack
on a 10 cubic foot kiln. A bigger kiln was out of the question in my
small urban yard. Did I forget to mention that I live in an urban
area and that the neighborhood is comprised of old, mostly wood frame
houses?
Do I blame the fire fighters? This is their job. The tragic fire that
destroyed an eight family rowhouse in our neighborhood only a few
months ago smells like fresh smoke in our memories. Who am I to
resent the shutting down of my kiln? I think, however, about the
difference in our relationship to fire. Fire is my medium. Fire is
my partner. With the utmost respect I have spent years trying to
understand and capture the wonder of fire in my work. To the fire
fighter, fire is also obsession. For them it is the enemy, pure and
simple, no ambiguity. I have never been in a burning building. So
while I can be fairly sure that they can never understand my
relationship with fire, theirs is equally impossible for me to
understand.
One of the characters in the Chinese word for crisis is also in the
word for opportunity. So I am keeping my eyes open for the
opportunity in the crisis. I am not without a kiln. I also have a
kiln out of the city that I am teaching how to pit fire. But this
kiln in my yard, now filled with that gunk, is aged to perfection,
gives the best results, is a true partner in that I know it well and
can make it sing.
I won't turn it into a planter, as someone has suggested. No, I will
look for a place to move it, where no one will notice my smoke.
Meanwhile, I may ask the fire department for some of that chemical,
just in case it gives me something good. Maybe I'll send them a pot.

Judy Motzkin
Cambridge, MA
jmotzkin@yahoo.com




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