Not Closed on Monday Seagrove and Pittsboro

Snow flurries fell as we stripped the sheets and left our little Red Cottage in West Asheville. One errand before heading East -- to stop in at the coffee shop and see about a mug by Candice Hensley. To Rob's delight, the charming young potter was there selling coffee. They had a good chat, and he happily bought the mug. We found the land just East of Asheville to be beautiful, as the sun came out and lit up the peaks dusted in snow. Everything changed as we passed Hickory, flattening out. Even the church structures seemed to change, the barn roofs too.

Entering Seagrove, N.C.

Before arriving in Seagrove we had gone over websites, and poured over the maps, noting which potteries were open on Monday. Most are not. What we learned upon arriving at the very first pot shop was that a tremendous amount of work is visible in the collective stores. We "met" so many potters we had not seen on the map, nor at the Catawba Valley Pottery Fair, nor via internet searches.  It was a very efficient way of identifying a few more potters whose work interested us. Several sell through the stores, not through their own shops, so it was well worth the stop. And we saved ourselves some time going in and out and seeking potters whose work didn't thrill us.

One of our stops was to see the work of Fred Johnston and Carol Gentithes, who turned out to be SUNY Alfred art school people. It was good to see more of the work, which we did remember from Catawba, and to visit a bit with Fred and Carol, sharing stories and getting to know each other. Fred has an intriguing way of combining decoration with the pot form. His work references historical elements from past cultures and times, like pre-Columbian and Native American imagery. The decoration is really something, it can evoke Miro one minute or Acoma the next but is not at all kitsch  or imitative.

 By the time we left the Seagrove area we had a little gathering of pots wrapped in newspaper on the floor in the back seat of the car: a mug, a vase, a small dish had joined Ms. Hensley's mug. We had looked for bowls, apple baking pots, teapots, and plates. Ah well, there is always tomorrow.  

County Courthouse in Pittsboro N.C.

The road to Pittsboro was a short cut road that went directly from Seagrove to our B&B on West Street. A renovated and renewed, gracious farm house structure, the B&B was a lovely place to land. Large proportions to the rooms and all the necessities provided by a friendly host. We walked into town, ate dinner at Angelina's Kitchen where we both had a vegan "rice bowl" that hit the spot with lentils, collards and carrots mostly from local sources. The County Courthouse beckoned us onto Main Street, where we peeked into the windows of second hand shops and the local second hand book store too. Turns out there's a Woodworking School and a vintage hand-tool shop above the school to see tomorrow!

Lost and Found in the Mists of the Blue Ridge

The fog in Little Switzerland N.C.

This morning we awoke to the sound of pounding rain. It remained dark well after sun up with a heavy cloud cover in Asheville. This was nothing to compare with the mists that engulfed us as we tried to follow the google map directions to the Folk Art Center. It was one of those adventures with directions that had us climb all the way up the Town Mountain Road, along rail-less drop offs in a thick mist in order to wind our way backwards on the Blue Ridge Parkway to the exhibits and shop of the Southern Highland Craft Guild. There were beautiful examples from the collection of the local craft traditions in weaving, basketry, clay, wood and natural material toys and household objects. It was good to get off the road for a few minutes. We couldn't resist a Bob Meier cup, which quickly seems to have become a favorite for Sarah's ginger tea. 

Tom at his computer with two smaller forms
in the foreground

The next adventure in directions came in trying to follow the shorthand and sign post notes from Tom Spleth. He's the one who moved to a high peak near Mount Mitchell, the highest peak in the Blue Ridge range! Well, it was curvy and steep. There were exciting moments, and deep fog.  We pulled over a few times, not for the road, but for the beautiful barns and tobacco shed structures arranged on the lumpy curving land masses.  Of course that was in the clearings. We arrived at Tom's because Tom came to retrieve us from near the post office parking lot of Little Switzerland. It would have been a quick trip if the Parkway was open, but it was closed due to bad weather and ice conditions. 

Tom's hexagonal bowl

Tom was a figure at Alfred when we were there, but one step removed from campus. He was in Alfred Station running a pottery, and already messing with the plaster slip casting that engrossed him for the next 30 years. He is still giving workshops and demonstrations on this technique. It was a marvelous moment when he opened the casual cabinets in his studio to reveal nine or so of these major works. These tall faceted slip castings, some black and white, and some with layers of color, date over the last few years. As it happens, his current fascination is with painting derived from the images of his pots. Painting is a pursuit that he says took hold of his imagination when he was 8 years old. It was during his time at the Kansas Art Institute under the magnetism of Ken Ferguson, that he turned towards ceramics.  We had a fun time seeing the work, hearing his stories, and connecting the dots. 

Tom's cabinet of tall pots

It was a lot easier to get from his place to the Penland School campus for a welcome cup of hot coffee.  The fog crept in, the chill was palpable. Hard to remember that we were so much farther South than our little Gilboa hillside.  The drive back to Asheville was relaxing, and we made dinner of all the food we had left -- with a large salad remaining to get us through tomorrow's lunch.  Our intention is to depart Asheville after picking up a mug we saw on Friday, made by a potter who also works in a coffee shop down by the River Arts district. Then we will drive the 2-3 hours East to Seagrove, the site of Jugtown and many many potteries. Eventually we will check in to our B&B in Pittsboro, a town that is sure to have a small pocket of crafts to share with us on Tuesday.

A Madison County Barn

Gobbling Up Pots

Chad Brown's booth, 5th generation North Carolinian potter

We entered the Hickory Convention Center with the idea that we would touch base with Mark Hewitt first, before the crowds descended. His work is well known beyond the region and we expected hordes of people to swarm. It was hard not to get involved with the pottery in the first booths close to the door, but we raised our eyes and kept walking until we found the Hewitt booth. He was personable, and the work beautiful.  As expected, we bought a pot. We’ll have more time to visit with him and see his studio in a couple days.

 

Our Mark Hewitt pot

Our Jim Whalen pot

Our adventure really began after leaving his booth. We literally spent over 4 hours looking, touching, talking, walking, and yes, buying.  The first two pieces we bought were art pots, defined by their elegance, grace, remarkable aesthetic qualities and sheer perfection of craft. The first was the Mark Hewitt piece, which could be envisioned with a couple lily stems, or filled with cider, or simply standing to be admired.  The second was a piece by Jim Whalen that simply took Sarah’s breath away with its references to Zuni shape and burnished surface. Jim is a seeker, following his own passions and artistic expressions through this most ancient and earthly practice. We hope to make it to his studio before leaving the Asheville area. His process is precise, with a daylong throwing in order to allow the clay to stiffen up and hold this uncanny shape. He slow-dries the piece, burnishing the surfaces and removing all marks of the hand, while preparing the surface for what will be the application of wax in patterns designed to thrill the eye and wake the heart. His final firing is a two-stage process of salt firing and sawdust firing, and still the pot is not done until it is scrubbed, soaked, and coated in tung oil. There is a month’s work in each pot.

Chad Brown's 1 gallon pitcher 

Then we began in earnest looking for functional ware for daily use, picking up mugs, bowls, and objects. We engaged in dialogues with some, and returned more than once to others. It is remarkable how a hand fits with a handle, or doesn’t, and how the attachment of a handle can change the balance in a mug.  The forms and glaze textures of Chad Brown caught us from the moment we walked by his booth, to which we returned, three times. There is a fundamental form in each of his pieces, and his glazes are unassuming, yet their unabashed salt glazed surfaces have that humble grace that saturates the old traditions. In speaking with him, we learned that he is a 5^th generation potter, no surprise there! He threw production ware for ten years before taking his forms out to meet his own need to make pots. He is the embodiment of how the influences of a Mark Hewitt meet the century old practices.

Andrea's booth

We were impressed by a young couple, caught by the colors and finesse, playful experimentation and expression of Andrea Denniston’s work, only to turn and see her partner’s work, astute and clear, functional and fun. We ended up with more of Seth Guzovsky’s pieces than Andrea’s and by the time we got home, wished we had brought several more of Andrea’s with us. We may have to do something about that. She has plans to do graduate work at Syracuse, so perhaps we’ll find her in New York.

With bags of mugs and soy sauce dishes, we continued to enjoy one after another of potters making contemporary face jugs, baked apple dishes, lamp bases, oil and vinegar cruets, and large planters. We admired faceted and crackled surfaces, enjoyed discussing the alligator dry crackled skins of Gene Arnold’s pieces, though we walked away with only two lovely balanced mugs from his Mud Duckpottery. We were choosing mugs for others, friends and our children, and hope that among the many they will find the one.

Three mugs - left & right by Seth Guzovsky,
center mug by Chad Brown

   

Our bowl by Andrea Denniston

In the next two days we expect to see many more possibilities, including a new red alert for oatmeal bowls.

Immersion: Going to the Fair

Early morning drive to the Catawba Valley Pottery Festival

One focus of the North Carolina trip is to attend the Catawba Valley Pottery Festival that attracts over 100 mudslingers and art potters from the region. This annual event is held in the Hickory Convention Center, a spot located in the heart of NC midway between the two pottery hubs of Asheville, in the western part of the state, and Seagrove three hours to the east.  It is also home to the famous Hickory Furniture Mart, a mecca for anyone shopping for discounted brand name American furniture. Where we are told that families can buy home loads of furniture at a fraction of the price and have it shipped to their own doorstep.  We didn’t venture into that territory, but did go to the Convention Center to look at the potters’ wares. 

Mark Hewitt (center) at his booth

The Festival is a typical two-day event, with anxious buyers shelling out a $40 entry fee to attend a preview party on Friday so they can select choice pots from the vendors.  The rest of us come in for $6 on Saturday for a day of looking at pots - to mill about, rummage and marvel at the range of special individuals that spend their hours making clay forms, many using local clay and traditional techniques to express their idea of craft and/or function. There were only a few production potters, of the kind that have old apple crates filled with cups, mugs, plates, pie plates, casseroles and bowls, priced by form and function.  Their work is done within the tradition of hand made but fast and efficient production ware. Much of the work is functional, well made and reasonably cheap. Most of the work is what I would call the North Carolina tradition of potters.  These are individuals who have embraced the techniques developed in the state over generations that manifest in the specific functional forms, local clay bodies and wood fire salt glazes.  A good bit of this burgeoning craft surprisingly came from a British transplant to this area, Mark Hewitt, a 30-year veteran of the region. He has produced his own brand of traditional ware and art pottery and has an active apprentice program.  He employs a few young potters at a time who study his process, learn his technique and absorb the aesthetics and forms in his style. They help with production in the guild tradition. After a few years they strike out on their own, integrating and adapting the Hewitt program and process into their own craft.  We encountered a few of these potters at the Festival including Matt Jones, Alex Matisse, and Seth Guzovsky.  Collectively this energy has gone a long way to revitalize and influence the current interest in North Carolinian ceramics.  Matt Jones was the guest speaker at the event and spoke about being part of a living NC tradition of craft that absorbs the cultural and relational aspect of making along with the beauty of form and the tradition of process.  Matt is known for his blog where he has provoked a spirited dialogue with the kingpin of art pottery promotion, and one time New York gallery owner, Garth Clark.  The two have sparred back and forth to an appreciative audience in both realms, including a few live dialogues in the region last fall. 

Matt Jones booth

From all signs at the Festival, things are going well as the economy picks up just a bit for the region and it’s cohort of craftsmen and women who are willing to work hard and carry on an adventurous spirit. We were struck by the open ended question of what might happen over time, and moved by the dedication of the folks we met in the River Arts studios of Asheville, though it’s hard to see how they can make enough money to pay home and studio rents. Yet, in comparison to the waitresses, fellows working early shifts at Denny’s and the local pub crew, it is heartening that so many are so willing to give it a try.

We thought we might satiate our appetite for pots in this day long feast, but we have seemingly only whetted our appetites, and more finely focused our attention, opened our own dialogues between forms, function, relationships, and culture. It is just a touch strange for us to find ourselves in the “collector” category here, not the “maker” one.

The car rides are speckled with observations of the hills, the vernacular rectangular church structures with white steeples stuck on top, and the deeper matters of what supports the people who are making craft with such intention in these days.  Our route took us to Black Mountain, the town and the Mountain, whose fame in our view comes from the school, which is no longer extant. The village is rife with craft shops and beer pubs, a residue in a way of what was once an active serious art community. Though there was lots of work in the shops, there is no direct lineage left there.

Our dinner at the Stone Bowl

Our evening came to a delicious end (after scarfing down peanut butter sandwiches for lunch in the convention center parking lot), as we found The Stone Bowl, a totally worthy Korean restaurant in South Asheville.  Nice name, hunh? Then we went home and unpacked our pots!

Arrived in Asheville

A view of the hills just before leaving Tennessee and crossing into North Carolina

We arrived in Asheville early this afternoon after spending the morning driving the last leg of our trip. We left Brooklyn 22 hours earlier on Thursday afternoon, first driving to Washington for a brief visit with Sarah's Aunt Hilda. Then back in the car to continue our journey through the dark Virginia night, passing familiar place names from American history - Manasses, Bull Run, and Shenandoah. By the time we fell into bed at our less than luxurious Super 8 roadside hotel, it was about midnight and we made it to a point a few miles west of Roanoke, Virginia.

Today's road trip was beautiful, the air unseasonably cold and clear with a bright sun. Our route took us by surprise as we didn't expect Google Maps to direct us through a corner of Tennessee. We couldn't quite believe we were actually in Tennessee! On the Al Gore Highway no less. We just had to celebrate by stopping at the Fireworks Supermarket (purchasing some black cats and sparklers) and to a liquor store to acquire two bottles of official Tennessee sipping whiskey.

Fireworks Supermarket in Blountville Tennessee

We turned South off of Route 81 and took the more scenic Route 26 to Asheville. It traversed the rumpled worn hills that were distinctly different than our familiar Catskill foothills. We passed between the Great Smokies and Roan Mountain, touching on part of the Cherokee National forrest. Appalachians on one side, Blue Ridge of the other. Our weather remained unseasonably cold with a temperature hovering around 23. Shady sides of the hills had a light dusting of overnight snow but there were also signs of spring with daffodils, pear trees and forsythia beginning to pop open. We descended into West Asheville and found our little red rental cottage in a suburban wooded neighborhood. Our place is neat and has all the comforts we need for a couple of days.

An easy drive downtown for lunch at the Laughing Seed Cafe, brought us to the River Arts section of studios and working craftspeople. We strolled through this arts district, a collection of old warehouses between the railroad tracks and the river. We saw a few interesting things, looking for the extraordinary in form, or surface treatment, function or imagination. Mostly there seemed to be a commercially available production area, offering the artists a community but producing more product than art.

Work by Akira Satake, one of the more interesting potters exhibiting in Asheville 

Tomorrow we travel to Hickory, 83 miles East of us, to take in the Catawba Valley show and sale. I am sure it will be a bit of a madhouse as some 115 potters sell their wares. There are sure to be some similar to our experience today, but we know there will also be some masters in the craft and artistry areas. One of these masters is Mark Hewitt, a potter we discovered in New Orleans at the Ogden Museum a couple of years ago, who is on our list to seek out at the Show. It turns out Ed Lebow (a close friend from college days), wrote a piece on him so he put me in touch with Mark directly. We are delighted that he is willing to give us a studio visit on Tuesday afternoon, even though he is working flat out to prepare a full kiln firing. So tomorrow promises to be exciting day - in terms of ceramics, and perhaps meeting other interesting artists in Hickory.

Spring Vacation and Plans to Visit North Carolina

A Trip South to a  Potter's Hollow

There is a town of some 300+ people near our Catskill house known as Potters Hollow and I have often wondered how it came by this name.  I romanticize about turning this long forgotten and slightly disheveled village into a thriving community of active potters all turning out extraordinary fired forms and colors in a variety of functional ware.  I started my artistic career in high school at a potter's wheel and pursued that craft by going to Alfred University. Sarah, too, explored pot making in high school. It still provides me with a foundation and connection to my sculptural and architectural interests, all deal with form, space, and concept in remarkably similar ways.  So when Sarah and I decided to "do" something over my spring break from teaching, we concocted a plan to drive through the upper backbone of  North Carolina in search of potters who seem salted in the woods. We want to discover both ceramic artists and functional production ware potters (like Jugtown), to discover what lineage still exists and may still be produced today.

We will spend a week traversing the state, first focusing on Asheville for a few days, with a day trip to Hickory NC to take in the 16th annual Catawba Valley Pottery Festival and then head to the Seagrove area, visiting individual studios along the way.  We should end up in Raleigh at the home of an old Alfred friend, who also started his career as potter, then turned architect.  This blog will record our trip and encounters along the way.  As Sarah and I haven't spent much time in North Carlina, this should prove to be a memorable encounter. The state has an artistic tradition, being home to the Black Mountain School and Penland, as well as the plethora of ceramic artists (115 promise to be at the Catawba sale).  We hope for a little warmer weather and some signs of spring along our travels in mountains that may well resemble our own Catskills.

Home Again Home Again

Soft in the early hours, a warm bright Barcelona day began.  Four open suitcases, mostly packed, sat around in the corners of our rooms as we showered, washed the last sheets, ate a little bread and organized our last coins and Euros. The construction on the street was quieter, digging into the layer below the pavement with considerably less hammering than the pavement had required.  A last few moments, and leaving the keys in the apartment, we headed down the stairs for the last time.

The train is familiar, getting out at Espagna, catching the A1 bus to T1 at the airport. Getting our seats organized for both parts of the trip and boarding passes, we felt in good shape as we got on that first plane headed for Madrid. Once we arrived in Madrid, we enjoyed the familiarity with the airport there as well, making our way for the long journey to the assigned gate, only to find that once there, we had been shifted to a later plane when our seats were assigned. So our luggage was already on its way to the later plane, and we swallowed our disappointment, coming to grips with the fact that we would be arriving much later. Rob and I shared a beer and some peanuts, and brought the same to the boys, who were biding their time phones in hand. Their stomach problems not quite subsided, neither took up our offer, so Rob and I shared another beer and peanuts.

Our long flight was crowded and the food below any standard we would set for meals. Unintelligible goo in place of mashed potato, next to undefined meat patty or heavy layers of creamy glop on pasta over dark tuna mush, nothing the boys could eat, and Rob and I managed to consume much more of it than we ought to have, but we were hungry and had nothing else to do. Even the wine was not palatable.

The views out the windows were fantastic and beautiful. It was clear enough that we were able to see the topography all the way across Spain and Portugal until we floated out over the sea, where the clouds began to clump and drift, catching gorgeous light until the darkness met us just as we approached the United States. The twinkling lights of Long Island seemed like grace itself. Then we landed, clapped and sat for nearly 40 minutes waiting for a parking place close enough to disembark.

Walking off the plane was simple, utilitarian and full of distinctly diverse people. We caught a ride into Brooklyn with a private car, dropped off Jesse at his own house, and arrived home to a surprised and amazed Emmett. Then our hosts arrived after their very long day and found the apartment inhabited by us! A delightful meeting, and all of us went off to bed. Home or not? And in the morning we brought fresh bagels to share, and after that Russell headed off for a train to Troy, and Rob, Emmett and I picked up the car and headed out of town to Gilboa.

And then we arrived home again. Zucchinis four times bigger than footballs, actually ripe tomatoes on the vine, green beans too big and tough to eat, wildness everywhere. It is easy to imagine what would happen if we didn't come here for a month. So tired as he was, Rob began to cut the grass and I took on harvesting cherry tomatoes, onions and cucumbers as the thunder rolled over head, and the sky darkened.

We had a crashing storm as we ate our fresh pollock steamed over a bed of fresh cherry tomatoes and torpedo onions, with sides of fresh beets and vinegar-cucumber slices. Still moving from one thing to the next, we found our way to bed by 9:15pm. Home twice in two days.