As the events transpiring in our cities and our nation unfold, they call on each of us to work together, care for one another, and make meaningful contributions—no matter how small they may seem— within our own communities. Those single sparks of connection can bloom into sweeping, transformative fires, changing worlds, changing hearts, and changing what we thought possible alone.
As ceramic artists, we are no strangers to the transformative effect of community. We see this show up in myriad ways: in classrooms when a more experienced neighbor leans over to offer support to a beginner at the wheel, the hand-off of stoking responsibilities from one wood firer to another, our understanding of glaze and clay chemistry built on a foundation of shared recipes and kiln logs. Very few of us entered our field solo, determined to set out alone from our first step without a map or guide. Instead, many came to clay by way of curiosity, coincidence, or course requirement, only to find a connection to material that would pay lasting dividends in our lives, both within and beyond the studio. For some, clay plays a small, but important, part in their journey, and for others it becomes home—providing family, restoration, and safety.
The artists featured in this issue have experienced the power and strength of collaboration and community, many of whom call Detroit, the host city of this year’s NCECA conference, home. Clay covers working hands on the factory floors of American automotive companies, in century-old potteries, community classrooms, and basement studios all across town.
One such basement studio can be found at the Glastonbury Collective, a live-work studio and artist residency founded in a historic Northwest Detroit home in 2012. Grounded in care for one another, their environment, and their broader community, collective members highlight the impact of building something meaningful together in this month’s Studio Visit.
Susan McHenry discusses Kimberly LaVonne’s narrative works— some adorned with flora and fauna native to the Panamanian jungles of her childhood—that explore the vessel as a vestige capable of memorializing and sustaining a connection to her maternal heritage.
As the second generation of Justin Rothshank’s wood kiln takes shape on the hill beside his home, Alex Paat reflects on the timeline and impact of this third space and how it shaped the potters and organizations that developed under the kiln pad’s roof.
Richard and Emily James began building a life together, which, after the exhibition No True Scotsman, has now blended their two studio practices into one creative collaboration with no one voice speaking louder than the other.
It’s understandable to experience moments of isolation when approaching your practice alone, but those moments can offer opportunities to reflect. In my studio, on such days, I think of late-night chats in graduate school, my aunt and middle-school me loading bisque kilns in her garage, and my extended community of educators and friends who have taught and inspired me so much over the years. Community, within clay and without, means conversations connecting generations, loads made lighter through shared work, and a sense of belonging built over time. I hope that the pages to follow inspire you to make meaningful connections—within your own community and across our clay community at large.
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As the events transpiring in our cities and our nation unfold, they call on each of us to work together, care for one another, and make meaningful contributions—no matter how small they may seem— within our own communities. Those single sparks of connection can bloom into sweeping, transformative fires, changing worlds, changing hearts, and changing what we thought possible alone.
As ceramic artists, we are no strangers to the transformative effect of community. We see this show up in myriad ways: in classrooms when a more experienced neighbor leans over to offer support to a beginner at the wheel, the hand-off of stoking responsibilities from one wood firer to another, our understanding of glaze and clay chemistry built on a foundation of shared recipes and kiln logs. Very few of us entered our field solo, determined to set out alone from our first step without a map or guide. Instead, many came to clay by way of curiosity, coincidence, or course requirement, only to find a connection to material that would pay lasting dividends in our lives, both within and beyond the studio. For some, clay plays a small, but important, part in their journey, and for others it becomes home—providing family, restoration, and safety.
The artists featured in this issue have experienced the power and strength of collaboration and community, many of whom call Detroit, the host city of this year’s NCECA conference, home. Clay covers working hands on the factory floors of American automotive companies, in century-old potteries, community classrooms, and basement studios all across town.
One such basement studio can be found at the Glastonbury Collective, a live-work studio and artist residency founded in a historic Northwest Detroit home in 2012. Grounded in care for one another, their environment, and their broader community, collective members highlight the impact of building something meaningful together in this month’s Studio Visit.
Susan McHenry discusses Kimberly LaVonne’s narrative works— some adorned with flora and fauna native to the Panamanian jungles of her childhood—that explore the vessel as a vestige capable of memorializing and sustaining a connection to her maternal heritage.
As the second generation of Justin Rothshank’s wood kiln takes shape on the hill beside his home, Alex Paat reflects on the timeline and impact of this third space and how it shaped the potters and organizations that developed under the kiln pad’s roof.
Richard and Emily James began building a life together, which, after the exhibition No True Scotsman, has now blended their two studio practices into one creative collaboration with no one voice speaking louder than the other.
It’s understandable to experience moments of isolation when approaching your practice alone, but those moments can offer opportunities to reflect. In my studio, on such days, I think of late-night chats in graduate school, my aunt and middle-school me loading bisque kilns in her garage, and my extended community of educators and friends who have taught and inspired me so much over the years. Community, within clay and without, means conversations connecting generations, loads made lighter through shared work, and a sense of belonging built over time. I hope that the pages to follow inspire you to make meaningful connections—within your own community and across our clay community at large.
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