Fire Clouds and lightning strikes

The art of Jacobo de la Serna.

by Edwin Daniels

Beneath a pitch-dark sky punctured by starlight, somewhere between the ancient Jemez and Sangre de Cristo mountain ranges of northern New Mexico, a small fire burns. Ceramic artist Jacobo de la Serna crumbles cottonwood bark into its flames, nudging the embers gently against the belly ol a red-hot pot. De la Serna began this fire at dawn by burning sage, whispering prayers, making cedar offerings and clearing his mind of anxiety and anger. For him maintaining a good mind and a good heart means a good fire. And fire is the womb from which all of de la Serna's creations are born.
"It all begins above us," de la Serna says, "at about seven- or eight-thousand feet up the mountains. That is where I find the clay I work with. It will often present itself along an eroded bluff. Once I locate a vein I lay down my prayers and make an offering of tobacco or corn meal. Then I pickax the stuff out It's chunky and full of debris. I have to clean it, process it and refine it before I can begin to shape it."
De la Serna examines the delicate pot sitting within the coals. He is watching for the glow of brilliant heat that signals its completion. He circles the fire repeatedly and monitors the pot's progress. It has the girth of a merchant and the height of a child, and once cooled it will shimmer black and cast back points of light like the star-scattered night above.
"The clay I work with contains large quantities of mica,' de la Serna explains, indicating the exquisite particles sparkling in an otherwise unassuming lump of extracted earth. "Discovering a vein is very exciting for me because it is such a beautiful thing to see. It looks as if someone showered the ground with silver."
But to bring this earth to the firing stage de la Serna must first nurture it through a long and laborious transformation. For every seven pounds of raw material he processes he will end up with one pound of usable material. It must be inundated with water and then left to dry in a pit. After evaporation occurs the clay will be gathered up and bagged. Then de la Serna will let it sit for a year to develop an organic material that assists in creating a stronger clay body. Once this stage has been reached the clay is ready to be worked.
De la Serna's inspiration begins with a spark of function and purity found in the form of a simple chili pot.
"I was sitting in my great aunt's kitchen one afternoon, talking and watching her prepare a meal, when I noticed a small, well-worn ceramic pot on a shelf above the cook stove," he reveals. "It had a nice rounded bottom, a high rim and a wide shoulder, neck and mouth. I couldn't identify it, but I knew it was no good for cooking beans because all the water would evaporate too quickly through the wide mouth. However it looked perfect for making a family-sized pot of chili. Which, as it turned out, was exactly what it was-my family's chili pot.
"That chili pot became my personal epiphany. Once my aunt told me that it was made by my great grandmother and that it was used everyday by the family for four generations-hearing things, seeing things-it really began to represent much more for me than just a pot. I wanted to discover everything I could about it. This quest became as much about understanding who I was as about uncovering the academics of ceramics."
The chili pot is known as a casitas ('little house') high rim. It is the name given to pottery created by potters like de la Serna's great grandmother who borrow from two distinct traditions: the European-Spanish style, evident in the object's shape and decoration, and that of Native American potters in terms of the coil technique utilized in building the pottery and the slips created from regional minerals and pigments giving it its color. The firing process also incorporates Native American methods.
De la Serna's Navajo great grandmother and a Spanish great grandfather, both from the Abiquiu area, form the nexus of his familial energy and define his creative force. He exists, both geographically and ideologically, between the sacred mountans and the blood of the Savior. It is a juxtaposition of native culture and Spanish Catholicism that may appear at odds, but to de la Serna it has become two hands clasp in spirit and praise.
"My family has always been in touch with the land, cultivating it and building our homes and our pottery from it," he explains. "I try to bring honor to my family whenever I create. I believe my great grandmother guides my hand."
De la Sernas process of creating ceramic works is, like the chili pot, simple and pure. Yet it draws from the four integral elements of life-earth, fire, water and air. A fifth element is de la Serna's own creative genius.
"I start from the beginning and use simple techniques then embellish as needed. My own pottery has exceeded the norm in size, variation, texture, color and the reduction in firings. I built upon a family tradition and brought it into a modern context that suited me. But on a personal level it is so much more than that. The creative process for me is a wonderful thing. The shaping and scraping and burnishing again and again is a meditative process. You can't be in a hurry, you can't push it. When something unexpected occurs I believe the clay is talking to me. I listen. The clay is alive. It has its own ideas, its own mind. I have tried to dictate to it but I have learned better. I view my role with the clay as a participant more than someone who controls it.
"This duality of creator and mediator is beautifully illustrated on the surface of the chili pot," de la Serna continues. "There is a small blossom of color called a fire cloud which occurred during the firing as a piece of fuel wood laying against the vessel burned away. The blossom penetrates the clay throughout the pot wall. And then there is a secondary fire cloud that affects the surface-from the fire of many, many meals. I love these events-one from form, one from function. But always during the firing of my works I like to step in and make something remarkable happen."
De la Serna leans toward the fire. An inch closer would singe his eyebrows. He reaches into his pocket and extracts a single strand of horsehair then drops it against the pot. The hair vanishes instantly in the heat and in its place a perfect bolt of black lightning streaks across the belly. It is the final touch. The pot is finished. Slipping into a pair of gloves designed to withstand heat in excess of twothousand degrees Fahrenheit, de la Serna gently wrestles the work from the flames and hastens it into the cool midnight air.

New works by Jacobo de la Serna will be featured at Michael McCormick Gallery, 106C Paseo del Pueblo Norte, during the month of July. A reception is scheduled for July 21, 4 -7pm. 758-1372 or 800/279-0879.

TAOS MAGAZINE July 2000

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