Ceramicist Gregory Roberts has conceived of an interesting way to memorialize the homes of those who lost their houses in the recent vicious wildfires in California. Through his art of using ceramics, he knew he could put the ashes of people’s burn homes into something that was both art and a lasting memento. But he felt odd asking people for their ashes. He did anyway. He promoted the idea on Facebook, The Sonoma Ash Project, and a local pastor spread the concept around.
Monday Crimson Quillfeather, Tuesday ejoanna, Wednesday Pam from Calif, Thursday art ah zen, Friday FloridaSNMOM, Saturday Gwennedd, Sunday loggersbra
And people gladly responded, dropping off jars and plastic baggies with notes and labels of the remains of their homes. So far 125 people have responded by leaving their collected samples in a bin by Robert’s front door.
Some samples arrive in mason jars, others in plastic baggies like Gray’s. All are deposited in a bin on the porch, and many are labeled with tape and permanent marker: names, phone numbers, addresses. A few of the samples look smooth, almost silky, like fine beach sand. Others are coarse, like freshly ground pepper. The colors range from silvery-white to charcoal—possibly a hint about what that particular flame had devoured.
The notes are heartbreaking in the way they try to describe their homes and what they meant to them. Some took ashes from only specific parts of what was left, knowing that they contained what was left of special items, much loved treasures, parts of old mementos and precious keepsakes. One lady took samples of what was left of previously cremated ashes of her four dogs that she had planned to be put in her casket when she finally passed.
When he receives a sample, Roberts sifts out any rocks, coins, or nails. Then he soaks the ash in water to strip out the lime, then dries it and grinds it into a fine, uniform powder. He assigns each sample a number that corresponds to the home address. It’s a practical choice, but also a poignant one. He’s created an incidental geography of loss.
His goal is to gift each each former homeowner a piece of pottery glazed with the ashes they saved. In design, each piece will be an homage to the Fountaingrove Round Barn, a local fixture that was a casualty of the fire. The 118-year-old architectural oddity had been empty for decades, after talk of turning it into a pub had stalled. Though unused, it was an affable fixture of the landscape and a visual reference for tourists—a literal and figurative centerpiece of the community.
The pottery once glazed with the special ash laden glaze will serve to be a tangible, beautiful momento of what was lost, and be used to grace what comes next.