"Kiln Gods" come to life

For years, I have mused about creating a collection of kiln gods, inspired by the ancient tradition honoring the imaginary deities who watch over the firing.

In late 2024, I started experimenting with a few small gods, each about the size of my hand. I decided to give myself permission to loosen up from my usual concerns about proportion and realism, and to just have fun. I gave myself permission to let the figures be strange, even a bit grotesque. After all, these are gods who are placed in kilns that fire up to 2300 degrees Fahrenheit and above, repeatedly.

By the spring of 2025, I had created more than 25 kiln gods, and I’m happy to announce that they’ll be included in the juried “Off the Box” exhibition at The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston’s Glassell School of Art.

The show runs from August 29 through September 28, with the opening reception on Friday, Sept. 6, from 6-8 p.m.

I studied kiln gods and a wide range of primitive and ancient sculptures from throughout the world.

In ancient Greece, there were five kiln gods, or Daimones Keramikoi, feared as malevolent spirits who plagued potters. They were Suntribos, the Shatterer; Smaragos, the Smasher; Asbestos, the Charrer; Sabaktes, the Destroyer; and Omoamos, the Crudemaker.

Most of my inspiration came from the Pre-Columbian art of Mexico and the rest of Latin America, thanks to the strong collection at MFAH and my holiday trip to Mexico City, where I spent many hours in fascination at the National Museum of Anthropology.

My working practice was to take inspiration from a certain ancient figure each time I entered my studio, then adapt it and make it my own. A few of my Kiln Gods bear close resemblance to their original source, but most are very different.

Fire is a frequent motif. My Gods are bearing, enduring, and being transformed by the heat. Some hold the clay objects that have been placed at their mercy. Clay is transformed in the kiln, from mudware to stoneware, so transformation is another recurrent theme.

Every time I open a kiln after it has fired and cooled down, I stop to take a breath. Fear and anxiety ruled my kiln openings in my early years as an artist, but now, after nearly 20 years of making ceramic art, the feeling before I open the lid or door is mostly one of humility and acceptance, with the knowledge that I can usually make right again anything that went wrong.

Daniel Rhodes, potter and professor, ponders why we have kiln gods in this quote from woodfireceramic.com: "Even today, with the availability of meters, pyrometers, and other instruments of control, a certain mystery attends kiln firing.  And in spite of the efforts of specialists, a degree of uncertainty persists. This uncertainty may account for the fact that potters do not regard their kilns as other craftsmen might regard their tools; rather they look upon the kiln as a place of holocaust, a potential enemy and destroyer as well as collaborator. By and large the action of the kiln has given rise to considerable superstition, and firing has not been well understood, even by many who are otherwise well trained in ceramics."