On a mountainside 660 metres above sea level, in the small village of Venabygd, in Norway, a group of ceramicists gathered, brought together by an Anagama kiln firing, and a kiln building project.

Anagama is an ancient wood-firing technique known for creating natural ash deposits and unpredictable flame patterns which interact with the clay surface without using applied glazes. This particular kiln was built in 1985 by Torbjørn Kvasbø, the founder of the Center for Ceramic Art (Senter for keramisk kunst, SKK) in Norway and an internationally acclaimed ceramics artist, with a career spanning several decades.

The Anagama kiln, which features a 5.5 metre-deep, 2 metre-wide, and 1.6 metre-tall chamber, usually fires the work of just six people. However this time, it will receive the work of 33 different ceramicists: Kvasbø invited ceramics students from the Oslo National Academy of Art to participate, alongside Kavsbø’s loyal firing crew, assistants, employees, and volunteers from SKK, as well as invited guest artists. Leading the kiln building project was Ole Morten Rokvam, who has been firing alongside Kvasbø for over two decades. Rokvam, an experienced kiln builder, has worked on many kilns over the years, and his expertise guided this labour-intensive process.

I was invited to participate in the project primarily to film the process for SKK, however as a second-year ceramics master’s student at Oslo National Academy of the Arts I also decided on my own accord to document the experience through writing.

21 October
One night, watching the fire roar out of the Anagama chimney, Sean Fuglseth (student) said, 'I think this is the closest I’ll ever get to a dragon.’ And so, the kiln became known as “the Dragon”. It’s been less than 48 hours since we completed the six-day-long firing process, with night shifts, endless wood stacking, and the intense heat of the fire.

The construction of the new Phoenix Fast Fire kiln, under the guidance of Rokvam, is a welcome distraction as we wait for the Dragon to cool, so we can retrieve the treasures it holds. We will start by preparing the sand base for the new kiln. To make an even base, the level zigzags across the sand; this is essential as no mortar will be used, because then the bricks will be reusable if the kiln is dismantled. In quiet moments, you can hear the rumble of the river 400 metres below.

A human chain forms to transport bricks, from the pile to the foundation; each one is carefully placed. It smells of damp earth and the satisfying clicks of bricks settling into place. ‘You almost get as happy from the kiln building, as you do from the firing,’ exclaims Helene Skuterud (student).

At times, a stubborn brick needs a gentle tap from a rubber mallet to fall in line, and sometimes they need to be switched out.

‘We have the most beautiful level and the most inconsistent bricks,’ Quin Scholten (student) says, eyeing up an inconsistent brick. ‘We need to change this brick,’ says Tessa Lulu Kaner (student), handing it back to Scholten. ‘Ole Morten would say that we need to change it, Torbjørn would say that it is fine,' concludes Scholten.

Each part of the Phoenix kiln is designed with functionality and Kvasbø’s ceramic sculptures in mind. Once complete, it will reach 1300 degrees Celsius in a day, and will be used primarily for glaze firings. Rokvam and Kvasbø had considered other kilns, however a catenary arch kiln would take too long to build, and a train kiln, Rokvam’s specialty, would require more bricks and investing in brand new material, making it costly compared to the Phoenix, which can be built with used, salvaged bricks already in Kvasbø’s possession.

22 October
Last night at the communal dinner table Kaner and Ruben Soon (student), who are both leaving today, were asked what they wanted to do during their final day: to go on a scenic hike on the mountaintop, or to keep building? The mountain didn’t stand a chance, and so at nine o'clock Kvasbø, Rokvam, Ulverud, and Trine Midtsund (wood-firing potter) sit on the concrete floor, discussing the shape of the firebox arch. The firebox arch is the opening where firewood is thrown in during the firing. Behind them, Kaner, Soon, Scholten, and Line Blom Salvesen (intern to Rokvam) stand observing the masters at work. ‘If we move this a little to the left …,’ Rokvam says, sliding a brick across the floor. ‘That’s to the right,’ Ulverud corrects with a smirk. ‘Be exact, why don’t you,’ Rokvam jokes, nudging the bricks further across the concrete floor.

I go down to the resting Dragon, not yet asleep, to lean against its warm body, and to write. It has been three days since the Dragon’s last spit of fire, but you can still see the air dancing on its back.

Ulverud is hammering off glaze residue from old bricks, a rhythmic clinking sound filling the air. Others grind bricks against the concrete floor to even out the surface. I’m the only one who notices the half-moon rising above us in the clear blue sky, while everyone else remains intent on the bricks below. The trees have all lost their colour, but the grass down below is still bright green, like it doesn’t know that summer is long gone.

23 October
Heavy drops fall off the metal roofs, thawed in the bright morning light creeping over the side of the mountain. Blom's meticulous measurements guide her as she marks bricks for cutting. Meanwhile, Midtsund and Scholten are unloading the red van of soft bricks brought from the warehouse, refilling the dwindling stacks intended for the kiln building. Hard bricks form the firebox; soft bricks will line the upper chamber, which will have an outside layer of hard bricks. The soft bricks are porous, and therefore lighter. The sound is muffled and almost dry and crispy compared to the sharp clang of the hard bricks. Kvasbø, ever the pragmatist, wants the doorway as wide as possible so he can use the same stack of door bricks that he already has for another kiln.

24 October
Coming from the other side of the workshop, you can hear the rustling sound of Line cutting bricks.

By the Phoenix, Scholten is addressing the wall as he works. ‘Are you still in level?’ Then, lifting a brick, ‘Not time for you yet.’ Kvasbø witnesses Scholten’s dialogue with the bricks, shakes his head, and smiles as he walks away.

Nina Standerholen (potter), selects soft bricks for the roof arch from one of Kvasbø’s outdoor shelves, gently blowing dust and cobwebs off of them.

The Dragon is no longer exuding heat. But it is not yet as cold as the air around it. Broken kiln shelves and treasures from past firings lie dust-covered atop its body.

25 October
At 08:34, at dawn, the clouds were pink and purple. At 09:45 the colours are all gone, and down in the valley a veil of clouds rests, like the valley was filled with water overnight. We are both under and above the clouds up here. ‘The chimney is pretty unstable,’ says Scholten nervously, as he balances atop the makeshift ladders made of wooden pallets. ‘Just build, don’t lean on it!’ Midtsund chuckles, as the kiln’s upper levels come to completion. Wooden supports for the roof arch, meant to be holding the structure up temporarily, come together inside the workshop. Once in place on top of the kiln, with Kvasbø still inside, Scholten exclaims, ‘Puppet theatre by Torbjørn, starting soon!’

The roof of the Phoenix is left unfinished — we ran out of both bricks and time — so it is wrapped up and laid to rest to protect it through winter.

Last night, you could heat your cold fingers in the newly opened shaft in the Anagama kiln’s chimney; tonight it is no longer warm, which means that tomorrow we will remove the bricked-up door to the kiln to retrieve the treasure from the belly of the beast. As we pass the Dragon, fellow student Iliana Papadimitriou whispers, ‘Be ready, be beautiful.’