Saggar firing is a process where fire becomes both painter and storyteller. Instead of relying on glazes alone, I enclose each piece in a clay container — a saggar — together with organic materials, minerals, and other natural elements. Inside this small chamber, heat transforms everything.
I gather my materials after their season has passed — fallen leaves, dried flowers, seed pods, or minerals weathered by time. These remnants of nature are placed around the clay form, each one carrying its own history. In the intense heat of the kiln, they release their colors, vapors, and markings, leaving a permanent trace on the surface of the vessel.
No two firings are ever the same. A certain leaf might burn to a soft blush one day, and a deep smoky shadow the next. Copper may bloom into greens, pinks, or purples; iron may leave rust-red halos or deep earth tones. These variations are not controlled — they are embraced. The fire decides, the materials respond, and the clay records every moment of their meeting.
The term “saggar” comes from “safeguard”, referring to the protective clay boxes first used in China as early as the Tang Dynasty (7th–10th century). These containers shielded delicate porcelain from ash and flames inside wood-fired kilns. Over centuries, saggar use spread across Asia and Europe, where they served mainly as a practical tool. In the 20th century, however, studio potters reimagined the saggar not just as protection, but as a stage for creative transformation — filling them with organic matter, salts, or metals to create unique surface effects.
For me, saggar firing is a way of honoring both the cycles of nature and the unpredictability of life. It is a collaboration with the elements — earth, water, air, and fire — and with time itself. The results are pieces that carry the memory of the materials they met, preserving the fleeting beauty of nature in a form that can be held, used, and lived with.