Reclaim The Cup began with a productive misunderstanding. I was on the phone with Casey Whittier—probably asking advice to resolve some technical question—when she started describing Project Cup, a series of workshops at the Charlotte Street
Foundation that focus on cups from various perspectives. In brainstorming more oblique ways to approach cups, Whittier wanted to add some sort of sculptural, franken-cup exercise to the Project Cup workshop lineup. Visualizing this, I asked her: So
you’d be taking broken cups and gluing bits and pieces and handles together, like on “Pimp My Ride” (an influential show for myself and my own work)? This is not what Whittier was imagining, but she was excited by the idea, and offered
that I could propose the idea to Charlotte Street—and we made it happen.
Next, we needed to structure the workshop. I basically ran a trial workshop for myself, to start. I used what I had (broken ceramics, found objects, a plush Wienermobile, etc.), and thought about Richard Serra’s 1967 Verb List: to fold,
to crease, to split. I was quickly absorbed by the process, building prototypes on various edges of the category of what we consider a cup. I wanted to frame the workshop with examples as expansive as possible, so participants could expand that much
further. From this original trial run to every next iteration of the Reclaim The Cup workshop, I keep notes and learn a little more about how to best prepare, frame, and facilitate participants’ creative innovation.
In the world of photography, we often use tape, string, plexiglass, and hot glue to temporarily hold things together. For a photograph, a thing only needs to stay together for maybe 1/160 of a second, until it’s frozen in time via image. In some
cases, ceramic artists fire kilns for many days to freeze pots. Perhaps photography could be the “firing process” for Reclaim The Cup—concretizing cup innovation via photo.
In ceramics instruction, this question comes up often, but has always confused me: “Would you rather your pots end up in the kitchen or in a museum?” I always thought, is that really it? The only two options? The furthest a pot could go? As
I delved into photography, I began to understand balance and composition in a new way: the visual rhyme of objects can visually stimulate and build a narrative. What if the pot became the scene? In Reclaim The Cup workshops, the cup becomes the stage
on which fearless, playful exploration and discovery take place. The focus, the goal, and the context are changed—conventional rules of functional pottery no longer apply.
Before each workshop, materials must be sourced. In addition to found objects and attachment materials (glue, zip ties, screws, clothesline, etc.), I ask local potters and friends for seconds—this is part of the project’s special sauce. A
judgment of quality determines a second; it doesn’t meet some standard of its maker, so it might be trashed, or it might sit around for a while. Some of my best surfaces have materialized on seconds forms—I keep those for reference. In the mindset of a potter, it can be difficult to see past functional imperfection to appreciate beauty. The seconds I collect, full of potential, become grounds for discovery. Seconds are donated only with the understanding that none
will go home unaltered—each will leave Reclaim The Cup integrated into a new, inventively collaged composition. The beauty of the starting pieces and parts contributes to the care with which participants approach composing their formal and functional
innovations.
After an overview framing the workshop goals, construction and deconstruction stations offer opportunities for cutting, gluing, zip tying, decorating, laughing at, hypothesizing new form and function possibilities, and expanding the ceramic process beyond
a “final” glaze firing.
Bins as random as the Goodwill Outlets contain objects that might be repurposed as handles, from plastic figurines to a pair of cone packs, to beautiful bisque-fired ceramic handles pulled by Anna Graef. We try to maximize the potential for customization—
Deconstruction Stations offer hammers, chisels, and diamond-bit Dremels, along with plenty of protective gear. At the Adhesion Station, participants decide how to attach their parts, with anything from E6000 to hot glue, to zip ties, to strings and
cords, to miles and miles of tape.
Stations and materials are laid out with both organized structure and ambiguity. The goal of Reclaim The Cup is to present familiar parts that can be re-mixed and re-imagined into convention-bending, rule-breaking, definition-expanding, maker-empowering
cups. Resolving a composition requires both thoughtful component selection and ingenuity in combining those parts. We recommend participants take a couple of laps through available materials to take in the possibilities before making decisions, but
just like a Southwest flight, it’s first come, first serve.
People start collecting materials pretty quickly, heading back to their seats to begin working, then popping back up as they realize what’s missing, sourcing parts to fill in the compositional blanks. Figuring out how to attach everything is next—hot
glue guns are popular for the immediacy they offer, but anything from pipe cleaners to fishing hooks can come in handy. We all get to see how each other plays—these are not most people’s normal working conditions, ceramic artist or otherwise.
Remaining open to the new ways your perspective might emerge (and change) in this new context is essential in order to reclaim the cup.
Once cup inventions are complete, we ask a few questions of each maker: name your cup, describe your innovations, is this a prototype for future iteration? This last question can be a perspective-shifter—how could this become more? This short writing
then accompanies photo documentation of each cup.
My own interest in photography stemmed from the magical, clarifying experience of seeing my work well-photographed for the first time. For the original Reclaim The Cup workshop in Kansas City, Missouri, we were able to hire the same photographer who first
photographed my ceramic work at Kansas City Art Institute, Max Wagner, to document cups produced at the workshop. Since these cups are often haphazardly assembled using non-archival methods, photo documentation allows for visual vitrification.
I hope participants leave Reclaim The Cup empowered by their discoveries and creations, re-imagining what a cup can be, and reclaiming the category of cup to include all they can dream up. Workshops are generative, not only in the physical cups produced
but also in expanding notions of usefulness and all that cups can be. Each successive iteration of the workshop engages new communities, builds upon previous workshops, and expands our library of documented cups, reclaiming the cup on individual and
community-wide scales.
the author Andrew Castañeda earned his BFA in ceramics from the Kansas City Art Institute and his MFA from Penn State University. He has worked as a production potter and fine art photographer across the US and is currently based in Boulder, Colorado. To learn more, visit andrewcastaneda.comand reach out to Andrew at andrew@andrewcastaneda.com.
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Reclaim The Cup began with a productive misunderstanding. I was on the phone with Casey Whittier—probably asking advice to resolve some technical question—when she started describing Project Cup, a series of workshops at the Charlotte Street Foundation that focus on cups from various perspectives. In brainstorming more oblique ways to approach cups, Whittier wanted to add some sort of sculptural, franken-cup exercise to the Project Cup workshop lineup. Visualizing this, I asked her: So you’d be taking broken cups and gluing bits and pieces and handles together, like on “Pimp My Ride” (an influential show for myself and my own work)? This is not what Whittier was imagining, but she was excited by the idea, and offered that I could propose the idea to Charlotte Street—and we made it happen.
Next, we needed to structure the workshop. I basically ran a trial workshop for myself, to start. I used what I had (broken ceramics, found objects, a plush Wienermobile, etc.), and thought about Richard Serra’s 1967 Verb List: to fold, to crease, to split. I was quickly absorbed by the process, building prototypes on various edges of the category of what we consider a cup. I wanted to frame the workshop with examples as expansive as possible, so participants could expand that much further. From this original trial run to every next iteration of the Reclaim The Cup workshop, I keep notes and learn a little more about how to best prepare, frame, and facilitate participants’ creative innovation.
In the world of photography, we often use tape, string, plexiglass, and hot glue to temporarily hold things together. For a photograph, a thing only needs to stay together for maybe 1/160 of a second, until it’s frozen in time via image. In some cases, ceramic artists fire kilns for many days to freeze pots. Perhaps photography could be the “firing process” for Reclaim The Cup—concretizing cup innovation via photo.
In ceramics instruction, this question comes up often, but has always confused me: “Would you rather your pots end up in the kitchen or in a museum?” I always thought, is that really it? The only two options? The furthest a pot could go? As I delved into photography, I began to understand balance and composition in a new way: the visual rhyme of objects can visually stimulate and build a narrative. What if the pot became the scene? In Reclaim The Cup workshops, the cup becomes the stage on which fearless, playful exploration and discovery take place. The focus, the goal, and the context are changed—conventional rules of functional pottery no longer apply.
Before each workshop, materials must be sourced. In addition to found objects and attachment materials (glue, zip ties, screws, clothesline, etc.), I ask local potters and friends for seconds—this is part of the project’s special sauce. A judgment of quality determines a second; it doesn’t meet some standard of its maker, so it might be trashed, or it might sit around for a while. Some of my best surfaces have materialized on seconds forms—I keep those for reference. In the mindset of a potter, it can be difficult to see past functional imperfection to appreciate beauty. The seconds I collect, full of potential, become grounds for discovery. Seconds are donated only with the understanding that none will go home unaltered—each will leave Reclaim The Cup integrated into a new, inventively collaged composition. The beauty of the starting pieces and parts contributes to the care with which participants approach composing their formal and functional innovations.
After an overview framing the workshop goals, construction and deconstruction stations offer opportunities for cutting, gluing, zip tying, decorating, laughing at, hypothesizing new form and function possibilities, and expanding the ceramic process beyond a “final” glaze firing.
Bins as random as the Goodwill Outlets contain objects that might be repurposed as handles, from plastic figurines to a pair of cone packs, to beautiful bisque-fired ceramic handles pulled by Anna Graef. We try to maximize the potential for customization— Deconstruction Stations offer hammers, chisels, and diamond-bit Dremels, along with plenty of protective gear. At the Adhesion Station, participants decide how to attach their parts, with anything from E6000 to hot glue, to zip ties, to strings and cords, to miles and miles of tape.
Stations and materials are laid out with both organized structure and ambiguity. The goal of Reclaim The Cup is to present familiar parts that can be re-mixed and re-imagined into convention-bending, rule-breaking, definition-expanding, maker-empowering cups. Resolving a composition requires both thoughtful component selection and ingenuity in combining those parts. We recommend participants take a couple of laps through available materials to take in the possibilities before making decisions, but just like a Southwest flight, it’s first come, first serve.
People start collecting materials pretty quickly, heading back to their seats to begin working, then popping back up as they realize what’s missing, sourcing parts to fill in the compositional blanks. Figuring out how to attach everything is next—hot glue guns are popular for the immediacy they offer, but anything from pipe cleaners to fishing hooks can come in handy. We all get to see how each other plays—these are not most people’s normal working conditions, ceramic artist or otherwise. Remaining open to the new ways your perspective might emerge (and change) in this new context is essential in order to reclaim the cup.
Once cup inventions are complete, we ask a few questions of each maker: name your cup, describe your innovations, is this a prototype for future iteration? This last question can be a perspective-shifter—how could this become more? This short writing then accompanies photo documentation of each cup.
My own interest in photography stemmed from the magical, clarifying experience of seeing my work well-photographed for the first time. For the original Reclaim The Cup workshop in Kansas City, Missouri, we were able to hire the same photographer who first photographed my ceramic work at Kansas City Art Institute, Max Wagner, to document cups produced at the workshop. Since these cups are often haphazardly assembled using non-archival methods, photo documentation allows for visual vitrification.
I hope participants leave Reclaim The Cup empowered by their discoveries and creations, re-imagining what a cup can be, and reclaiming the category of cup to include all they can dream up. Workshops are generative, not only in the physical cups produced but also in expanding notions of usefulness and all that cups can be. Each successive iteration of the workshop engages new communities, builds upon previous workshops, and expands our library of documented cups, reclaiming the cup on individual and community-wide scales.
the author Andrew Castañeda earned his BFA in ceramics from the Kansas City Art Institute and his MFA from Penn State University. He has worked as a production potter and fine art photographer across the US and is currently based in Boulder, Colorado. To learn more, visit andrewcastaneda.com and reach out to Andrew at
andrew@andrewcastaneda.com.
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