LETTER
Fellow Potters,

1 could hardly even say I'm potting still, but I am,
though it's set in some ever-shifting 10-year plan. As
Bob Kingsmill says, “Once a potter, always a potter’,
and of course we all know how true that ts; the clay
dust settles on the brain.

When John Reeve, Leonard Epp, and Reg Dixon were
all together in “71/'72, teaching at the old Art School
adjoining V.V.I., I was fortunate to have been there
too, as a 3rd/4th year student. with me and
others were Malcolm Stewart, Margaret McClelland,
Sam Kwan, Mark Lawrence, Steve Nemeth, all gradu-
ating that year together (and Val with her duck-feet
pots).

Mick Henry used to drop by on occasion to sit /stand
and talk and smoke for a few hours (a Valdy sort of
character), And Tam Irving was just completing his
assortment of industrious at his cliff-
perched studio near Horseshoe Bay.

There was a particular and special energy there, at the
old Art School. We had one cantankerous ‘Cat-in-
airey’ then, with a brand new Cone 10 electric kiln
which was in repair because someone hadn't set the
shut-off properly, and it went into melt-down. Doug
estimated it went to cone 15 or so before it was noticed
to still be on the next morning. Also, there was the

‘Lost wax’ kiln for the metal sculptors, but
sometimes the potters got in there for one large,
tightly-stacked bisque firing, and the top-loader was
always fill with plaster-studded pieces which some-
times sounded more like someone was popping corn.

John (and Mick, too) had brought with him the Leach-
Hamada attitude in a very strong spiritual manner,
and this impressed deeply on most of us, in our daily
, the inherent qualities of that school of
thought. With Reg and Leonard's points of view, that
made for three very distinct approaches to clay.

Across the street, on Hamilton, was Hiro’s House of
Ceramics, with the Bau-xi next door, and the Alcazar
and Marble Arch pubs in large use. Beer was 22 cents
a half pint then, and coffee was 10 cents, going to 15 by
the end of that winter. I remember the day when the
talk of the hour was that a truck had just plowed

one side of the Alcazar, ending up right next
go the bar. Meanwhile, pool continued on as ff nothing
had happened.

‘open’ and fresh in every sense of the word, with a
lunch hour volleyball game in continual progress,
sometimes regardless of rain. Some days, It was the
Bakers vs. Sculptors; some days, Print-makers vs,
Auto Mechanics, and sometimes the white smocks of
the technicians would go against some of the Instruc-
tors: all this occurring spontaneously, depending who
got to the volleyball and the court first, And all around
and above, from vantage points like the breezeway,
steps, and every window, were the student nurses’
aides, almost-secretaries, hairdressers, chefs, ap-
prentice electricians and the like, all in their distinct
styles of dress uniforms, fragrances, (and smells).

Meanwhile, the various groups of artists were also as
distinct in their appearance and tndividuality (to say
the least), depending mostly on their chosen medium,
Mine was clay.

The bakers kept dropping down to our corner to see
what we were mixing up in the dough mixer. One even
ended up taking a night course in wheel-throwing,
and made some pieces, as light as —a pastry!

The cafeteria is still much the same today as it was
then, with reasonable prices, though with a lot less
creativity around, without the Art School students
there. But sadly, the open courtyard is covered now:
closed in and ‘muffled’. It was always in that area thal
everyone melded. It was a continually vibrant and
moving creative area, with everyone coming in from all
directions, glancing off with ideas and interaction,
and then going out in all directions, like sparks of hot
metal off a grinding wheel.

I miss those days and months of cool moist winter,
into steamy spring, and I miss all those people that 1
met and talked to and got to know there. We've all
parted company long ago, and [ hardly ever see anyone
anymore, though the experience there has been a
lasting influence to me in every day's passing: relating
now to then, and remembering fondly all the good
stuff that went on there, and all the people reacting in
that positive space of creativity and laughter.

As one of John's students, I still hope, even at this very
late date (20 years later), that the large kiln intended
at Robert's Creek might become a reality. The bricks
still sit, overgrown with moss, and crumbling like
some Incan monument waiting to be rediscoverd and
ressurrected. And ifasked tojoininon such a project,
all us middle-aged, but still very much potters, who
latched on to the dream, still stand waiting and
wondering about the opportunity of the working,
functioning pottery as John had intended and ar-

ranged for.

At least for me, that experience asread about and seen
at such places as Winchcombe Pottery has yet to
happen here in B.C, (besides the Clayworks Society,
or apprent at Robin Hoppers Hillsdale pottery
back in Ontario), And I still ask myself if] haven't
already experienced it, somewhere, sometime, many,
Many years past. Perhaps LaBourne, or Korea, or
Egypt, or maybe not at all, it being just a figment of my

Sweet dreams folks, and have a good Christmas,
Ketth Receveur

THANKS AND REQUESTS

The production, and I think the reading, of this
Newsletter is made very enjoyable when articles and
notes from the membership are sent in. If you have
any comments, suggestions, reactions, memories, or
hints to pass on, I'll be delighted to hear from you. I
did appreciate those of you who took the time to
respond to the questionnaire sent out in the spring,
and I hope you notice I took note! (Or else 'm working
on It.)
Jan Kidnie, Editor