On-Line Sales
 Gallery

Christine Homer Weaving

            It is not always easy to identify spring in the northeast, but one of the more reliable signs must surely be Bob Compton's Annual Potters' Pot Luck Dinner. Held in early May, when glittering green grass can still be balanced by patches of snow visible in the woods, this event gives clay workers a chance to meet and shake off any lingering winter gloom. Gathered from Vermont, New York and New Hampshire, clay workers of all persuasions meet at the Compton's converted dairy farm near Bristol, Vermont. In the pasture beside the studio, three little black lambs cluster under the apple tree bawling for their mothers. The potters' voices are more robust as they ceaselessly discuss pots and pottery; admire the gallery, the extensive clay studios, and the kilns proliferation on the hillside; and tuck into a great meal.

            In addition to good fellowship, delicious food, and inspirational talk, there is always some activity of interest to potters. One year the guests were instructed to bring a few bisqued pieces to fume with copper sulfate during sawdust firing. As the firing pit, formerly a pigpen, dramatically billowed gray-green smoke, the potluck dinner was consumed. On another occasion a collection of pots from New Zealand were displayed. Though out the afternoon there was always a gathering quietly inspecting and discussing the variety, charm, and ingenuity exhibited in the work. This year, an in-the-round photographic representation of the Leach exhibit hall at the New Tate Gallery Annex in St. Ives, England was being closely studied. The general response seemed to be delight that pottery could be displayed so stunningly and valued so highly.

          The subject of clay naturally dominates all conversation. Animated discussions about pottery equipment and technique, glaze ingredients, marketing strategies and the forever-exciting topic of the clay vessel hum though the air. The participants pause only to refill their plates or to remark on the scrumptious food.

           Over the past few years a trend in the food one-up-manship has been noted. Participants seem to vie in bringing the most stunning combination of dish and food. One year, in an electrifying visual display which happily was also delicious, an exquisite platter held-very briefly-tiny bite-sized pancakes garnished with caviar and purpled with velvety pansies. This year an immense, ornate bowl held pocket book strawberries. A beautiful salmon reclined nearby on a handsome platter: handmade food in a meal to dream about.

             Bob Compton and his wife Chris Homer have built their potters' wonderland firebrick by firebrick. Bob discovered clay in college and opened a small pottery shop while still attending classes. With irrepressible energy, Compton now teaches workshops, digs the foundations for new kilns, throws terrific pots, and engages guests in conversation-all with thoughtfulness and goodwill.

            In holding the potluck, the Compton's annually re-weave the ties of clay workers isolated by the solitary pursuit of beauty though clay, the harsh weather, and the rural landscape. It is a chance for all to reestablish a balance between self and community; to reaffirm dreams and refine goals, heartened by the Compton's' vitality, hospitality, and awe-inspiring creativity.

             In addition, many of the guests thaw winter from their bones in the hot tub while being serenaded by spring peepers. The word is to "bring a swimsuit or just wear a smile." Either way, the Comptons' annual Potters Pot Luck emphatically, warmly, announces the end of another long winter for area potters.