this death is and isn’t mine, 2024

kaolin epk, soil, charcoal, stones, wood ash

residual copper carbonate and copper wire mark the soil from a pit fire held prior

edgecomb, maine

Daily walks along the same loop…I find that the trees and I have a lot to talk about every time I return to the NE. 

On my first evening, I was joined by a presence on my way back to my cabin, who later took what felt like a leap onto my bed in the middle of the night. The following day, the residency cohort (Watershed Ceramics) was guided through a forest bath, though I instinctually felt refrained from connecting to the trees and plants of these woods through touch. I didn’t know who these spirits were…we had a lot to talk about first. I heard the insects and the bees so loudly. Never before have bees been so talkative with me, following me so close to my ears. A week later there would be an intense surge of pollen in the air (turns out I am allergic to bee pollen, and ended up having hay fever my last week of the residency. This meant for the last week I couldn’t take long walks anymore and had to isolate often). Though my routine shifted over the course of the second week, on my walks I became familiar with the sounds of the day, and I looked forward to each of them–to the song of the black-capped chickadee early in the morning, and the chatter of the birds that convened every evening over the chicken coop. I particularly loved this one frog in the trees along a lake, who would croak every evening past nine whenever you would pass by the very tall creaking tree.  

I sought a visit to the ocean, and (to find out afterwards) the beach had a quicksand advisory…I could feel my feet sinking in as I looked out to the Atlantic Ocean. Arms are outstretched/whispers travel [muffled screams] between waves across waters/determination forms our togetherness (Williams)/interwoven/we can laugh too/IT IS CERTAIN/when we fight for the love of li-fe(-ves, -ing). The following day, June 9, I was on the first day of my monthly bleed and when I was suddenly struck with hay fever. That evening, I would have a dream that would guide me through what the kaolin had been calling for. 

The cohort organized a pit firing. In this opening is where the kaolin was laid to rest after the firing was complete. Everyone who participated in the pit fire helped create the opening and dig up the soil. Many stones were upturned, and a blue-orange clay revealed themselves. Copper Carbonate was added to this firing as a colorant, along with salt, sawdust, copper wire and some organic materials (i.e. bananas, orange peels, coffee grounds). After the firing, wood ash and charcoal coated the floor of this opening. 

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Kaolin epk slip traces the bottom of the opening that held the pit fire. The stones upturned from their home are nestled back into the ground along the mouth of this opening. The sides of the stones that face East, towards the Atlantic Ocean, are shaded using charcoal born from the pitfire’s wood. 

Left to dry overnight, the kaolin’s edges became scab-like as they began to sink with the soil. The following day, I buried the kaolin(with the help of a few hands), completely filling the opening. Two months later, a golden brown grass began to grow again where this opening had been made (photo courtesy of Victor Urroz). They would not be forgotten. 

This was the kaolin’s fifth life cycle. 

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During a walk on my last day in Maine, I greeted the daisies I have greeted every day for the last two weeks. These flowers offered an invitation for me to create a bouquet to take with me. They trusted they were going to be shared with another, with deep affection and love. And they were. 

Last two photos taken by Victor Urroz