More fish

I've tried making the fish hollow but I'm not as happy with the shape & I'm running out of time.

I'm making a stencil to do another set of fish incase the round ones don't survive firing.
Having a stencil will mean the clay it cut evenly & can be repeated easily.

If I had the money I would buy a copper fish mould used for baking pies & use that as a mould instead.

I also made my flying bread today.
Ideally I would like loafs & fishes but if anything stops the fish being successful than I have the the staggering of the bread on the wall to draw a focus point.x

The loafs & fishes are a cheeky nod to faux catholic kitsch.

There is a poem called Heaven about organised religion.It features fish & the fish I'm making represent the poem it's author & the ideals he fought for.


Heaven by Rupert Brooke

FISH (fly-replete, in depth of June,
Dawdling away their wat’ry noon)
Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear,
Each secret fishy hope or fear.
Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond;
But is there anything Beyond?
This life cannot be All, they swear,
For how unpleasant, if it were!
One may not doubt that, somehow, Good
Shall come of Water and of Mud;
And, sure, the reverent eye must see
A Purpose in Liquidity.
We darkly know, by Faith we cry,
The future is not Wholly Dry.
Mud unto mud!—Death eddies near—
Not here the appointed End, not here!
But somewhere, beyond Space and Time.
Is wetter water, slimier slime!
And there (they trust) there swimmeth One
Who swam ere rivers were begun,
Immense, of fishy form and mind,
Squamous, omnipotent, and kind;
And under that Almighty Fin,
The littlest fish may enter in.
Oh! never fly conceals a hook,
Fish say, in the Eternal Brook,
But more than mundane weeds are there,
And mud, celestially fair;
Fat caterpillars drift around,
And Paradisal grubs are found;
Unfading moths, immortal flies,
And the worm that never dies.
And in that Heaven of all their wish,
There shall be no more land, say fish.