In This Issue
My father and I share a conversation over a cup of coffee almost every morning. It's an unspoken agreement that the time it takes to indulge in our steaming twelve ounces is the time we protect to lose ourselves in each other's company. I've never timed a cup of coffee conversation, but there is something funny about time in its security to be consistent, yet its artifice to feel both fleeting and endless. This abstract space of twelve ounces has become our sacred time to share unfiltered stories of where we are, what we are doing, and where we plan to go.
This month's writers all share personal narratives in this same vein. In our FREE article, Nancy Servis reflects on where we as a collective ceramic community were in 2020, when the National Council on Education for Ceramic Arts had to cancel the annual conference, and where NCECA, as an organization, has grown and pivoted for this year's conference. Eve Talley looks back on a career that linked her love for ceramics to helping her muddy buddies with current shipping logistics across the globe. Brad Menninga interviews Lillian Pitt and Richard Rowland as they speak about their friendship, their connection to Indigenous artists from around the Pacific Rim, and the village of Celilo. This Native American village was flooded when the Columbia River was dammed to generate electrical power in 1957. The fourth article Studio Potter presents is one too many of us have felt in the past year; the loss of a loved one or cherished friend. Ginny Gibson shares her story of death and the actions we take to tell our people, "I love you – I've noticed you – I know who you are. Remember me."
In Studio Potter's forty-nine-year legacy, we protect the space and time to indulge in our shared conversations on ceramics, and all that encompasses being a studio artist. We welcome hearing from potters, artists, scholars, and educators with a special interest in writing and reporting on topics and events that matter in their personal and professional lives. Take for yourself the time and space of March to immerse yourself in our shared narrative, to indulge in each other's company, to honor the memory of where we were and where we plan to go.