Kevin Crowe
As potters, our work is implicitly environmental, for the earth under our feet is the material we work with. Its health, along with a reverence for process—and ours and that of those who use our pots—are necessary for us to function and for the planet to thrive. As more and more processes are discarded and the pace of our culture accelerates, the ability of the public to discern craftsmanship gives way to a thirst for novelty.
There is only one cure for the environmental crisis: Go slow. Want less. Consume less. It is here that the responsibility and the paradox of being a potter lies. For we are producers of objects in a culture that is “shopped out.” The attics and landfills are filled.
I fire my kiln with wood. In this labor-intensive process there are no short cuts. Stoking pine with other potters late at night, we’ve debated this business of being a potter here in the 21st century. We have arrived at an aesthetic that is quiet and contemplative; one that requires the public to meet it halfway. I make pots that ask for—and give—more than a sensitivity to interior design. I want my work to touch that distant quiet place in each of us. Balance, home, grace. I make large bowls and serving platters to encourage the ritual sharing of food by many hands. The potter’s work is healing work. Pots are my expression of hope.
Studio 19
South region
Instagram @tye_river_tea
facebook /TyeRiverPottery
434-263-4065
