We systematize the studio.

Every potter I know keeps a box of secrets under the workbench.

I built kiln in a shared studio in Lisbon, with clay under my nails and a phone full of glaze recipes I'd photographed from a friend's binder. That binder was twenty years of work, and it lived in one person's memory. When she moved, it nearly went with her.

So here's the thing I keep coming back to: pottery is a practice of repetition — the same bowl, thrown a hundred times, until the wall is even. But the knowledge that makes it worth repeating is scattered across sticky notes, spiral notebooks, and half-remembered advice.

Kiln is that box, opened and shared. Your recipes, your test tiles, your firing curves — legible, searchable, and yours to export. Because a craft this old shouldn't depend on one person's handwriting.