opened the kiln this morning and two pieces I was actually proud of came out cracked down the middle. one was a little face vase I'd been staring at for a week, the glaze came out perfect, colour exactly right, and there's a hairline running straight through the face like it's having a bad day.

and the weird thing is I'm not even mad. I've been at this two years now and I've started to almost respect it when the kiln kills something I love. it keeps my ego in check. every time I think I've got it figured out, the fire reminds me I don't.

took the cracked one home anyway. it's sitting on my shelf next to the other three failures I couldn't throw away. my abuela calls them my little museum of almosts. she's the only one who says it fondly.

whatever. bisque firing tomorrow, six new pieces going in. the cycle continues. joder, I love this messy life.