Ron Meyers – My Friend of Fifty-eight Years and Counting
How can I fit more than half a century of friendship into an article? Words, stories, and photographs seem inadequate compared to the emotional impact of our continuing relationship. I was in Ron’s first class at the University of South Carolina in 1967. I knew absolutely nothing about ceramics – my dream was to be an architect. This red-haired, thirty-three-year-old, friendly, and kind guy, fresh out of the Rochester Institute of Technology, changed the course of my life. I have never regretted it for one moment! Typically, in life, it is a family member who has a huge, meaningful impact on a person; for me, Ron has played that important role in my development as a potter and artist. His easy-going manner and loose teaching style drew me in, and I clung to him like glue, finagling my school work-study job into working only for the ceramics department. I learned a lot fast and was rewarded with trust and friendship, eventually loading his pots and later firing them.
The Meyers family is a close and loving one, now with great-grandchildren, and I was considered a part of the family from the beginning. That has not changed over these many years. It is an honor that brings joy to my heart and tears to my eyes. Ron made a place for me to help him in his home studio as well. I have always told people that is where I learned the most about making pots and being true to your work. Midway through my sophomore year, I was entering shows and even doing some workshops, additionally spending a lot of time with my girlfriend. I was spreading myself too thin, and when I received my grades, I was shocked to see that he had given me a C in Ceramics 201. I was a little too big for my britches with all my early success outside of school, and it was an eye-opener, which I fully understood. I went to his office, knocked, and with purpose looked him in the eyes and said, “I get it.” We all slip sometimes! Through undergrad, these “home lessons” became more impactful, not just about the how of pots but the why. His devotion to clay was insightful, as was his recognition and appreciation of those who came before us. This attitude has remained in my heart all these years.
After undergrad, I went on to studio work, teaching, and workshops. Ron started at the University of Georgia in 1972. We remained in contact, and I often went to Athens to work alongside him. On a visit in 1975, he suggested that I apply to grad school. I entered in 1976, eager and willing. Ron had already been a name in the ceramics world; however, his teaching style was as relatable and enjoyable as ever. His own work had evolved; in earthenware, a clear Impressionistic style was prominent, with colorful drawings of naked women, pigs, chickens, and rats. His stoneware with simple glazes showed a devotion to tableware. We settled into a way of working like we had in previous years. When needed, I loaded and fired his work at school and helped him in his studio at home. I come from a family of carpenters, so I would do any construction projects, and together we started to build kilns at this place. This type of relationship has been an integral part of my career. It is exactly like Ron’s history with his teacher and friend Frans Wildenhain – the legacy has continued. Here is a little side information: as a child, Ron had red hair and was referred to with that appellation. I enjoy calling him Red, and it always brings a huge grin to his face.
My work and the way I handle clay have been influenced by a number of potters and artists, including Voulkos, Matisse, Eva Zeisel, Cassatt, Miroslav Tichy, and many others; however, it is Ron who has had the greatest overall impact. He has done for me what he continues to do for others as a mentor, teacher, storyteller, nudger, and clear thinker. A big forward moment for me was when Ron introduced me to Shino ware and the Momoyama Period. This combination of working with him, understanding his ideology, embracing change, and making mistakes has become the bedrock of my path. There are no blinders worn by his aesthetic or influence; he always encouraged us to look everywhere and at everything. With regard to my influences, working style, and how I mess around with my work, I often hear, “Wow, I wish I could be as loose as you.” I respond with, “I call my way of working casual because to me loose is a look and casual is a way of working.”
After grad school, I remained in Oconee County, where there were many potters, and we were a close-knit group. Every November, there was a birthday celebration for Ron and Jerry Chappell (potter and owner of Happy Valley Pottery) and a huge week-long “pottery conference,” – I mean party – attended by hundreds of clay people. Imagine a mini National Council on Education for the Ceramic Arts (NCECA)! Having retired from his teaching position at the University of Georgia in 1992, Ron was enjoying his celebrity, workshop travels, and new interest in wood firing. In the spring, many of us did earthenware wood firing with him in his anagama, and fall was a season for stoneware. I continued to be his in-house construction guy, adding a room to his house, building kilns, and enlarging the studio. Our relationship grew with respect to our career paths, schedules, and age. I still remind him that he remains thirteen years older than me.
For years, I had an idea to make a film about Ron, and over a period of a year, I made a forty-five-minute film, “Ron Meyers and the Usual Suspects,” premiering in 2013. This film paints a portrait of an artist whose pottery is animated both by the ceramic surfaces he paints and by the vibrant relationships around him. It’s a film about craft, sure – but more so about how creativity thrives in friendship, mentorship, and a lively community. Through each kiln opening, slip painting session, or offhand remark, you see how Ron and his circle turned studio life into a sustained conversation – between teacher and student, peer and peer, maker and admirer.
In 2021, Ron and Hester sold the big house and studio outside of Athens. They moved into a small house in town around the corner from the house they bought when they first moved to Georgia. When they told me they were moving, I agreed that the move was a great idea; the “compound,” as I called it, was too much to care for – smaller and easier was just the thing for this time in their life. He said that he might want a small studio in the backyard. So I said, “Hey Red, I have built something for y’all in every place y’all have lived – why change now? I’ll come help y’all move and build you a studio." That is exactly what happened. I, along with my carpentry buddy Jack Hudson, built the studio. Ron decided that he would make small pots and concentrate entirely on earthenware oxidation. So goes the next evolution.
In 2022, on a visit, Ron and I were in the studio; he was making some yunomi, and I mentioned that we had done gigs together and been in shows with other people, but not a show of our own. And since he was making yunomi and cups, we could do a show about drinking vessels. He said, “Well, let's do it.” My response, “I have the perfect title.” So Dranking Thangs was born. In January of 2023, we had an extremely successful show in Atlanta at The Signature Shop. After a lifetime of friendship and creative companionship, sharing a show together was a profound culmination of our parallel journeys in clay. It honors not only our individual legacies, but also the bond that shaped and sustained our work across decades.
The Meyers enjoyed the beautiful brick bungalow, and he loved working in the new studio. In August of 2024, dear Hester passed away. There was a beautiful “Celebration of Life” for Hester; we think there were about 350 family and friends attending. Then, on November 4, 2024, Ron turned ninety and decided on one more move. He has returned to the original house, living with his son David and his family. Ron continues to work in the studio at the Bungalow, making more of the usual suspects. He remains an influence and mentor to countless artists and is a constant contributor to our clay community.
I feel incredibly fortunate to have shared more than half a century of friendship with Ron and his family. Though we now live 2,400 miles apart and rely on phone calls instead of in-person visits, our creative connection is still going strong. I organized a panel at NCECA 2025 focused on Ron’s work and his lasting influence on ceramic history. I also nominated Ron for NCECA’s Honorary Member award, which he’ll receive at the conference. And here’s the best part: his sons, David and Ed, will be bringing Ron to the event. He’s truly unstoppable.
Now, in his nineties, Ron is one of the few remaining potters of his generation still actively contributing to the field. Ron’s work bridges function and storytelling, humor and humanity. His practice is rooted in tradition, yet never bound by it. As I celebrate his legacy, we must look back with respect and gratitude to those women and men to whom we owe so much. Ron’s example reminds us that a life in craft is not only about making objects, but about nurturing community, mentorship, and joy. His continued presence is both rare and vital. I always hope that I, too, can play a role in helping other potters and artists in an impactful way. Always remember – we all need each other.
Red, I sincerely thank you for your guidance, help, encouragement, and jokes all these years. Now, what shall we do next? Hey, I have an idea...
As a result of George’s panel about Ron at NCECA Salt Lake City, he has been asked about the availability of his film, "Ron Meyers and the Usual Suspects." It has now been made into a digital file and will soon be available on George’s website, georgeshouseofclay.com. Additionally, George will make his film, "Archie C. Bray: Life at the Brickyard," available as well.
