The Art of Making Stoneware Pottery With Guy Wolff

Guy Wolff Pottery is set just off the main road in Bantam, Connecticut. Known mainly for the flowerpots he makes, Guy has over 50 years of experience throwing pottery. As a young potter, when I first read about Guy I was taken by the way he made pots with a historic influence, drawing from shapes that were made over the past couple hundred years. The very first summer I visited Guy’s shop, I had just graduated from the University of Toronto. I drove my mom’s car for 10 hours to get there. Now, after 12 years of visiting this place, the charm still hasn’t worn off. Every single time I spot that red wheelbarrow, I smile.

Guy’s shop is divided into two rooms; the salesroom and the workroom. The salesroom is original to the building, dating to the early 18th century. The workroom sits at the back, and stepping into this space has the effect of time coming to a stop. It’s a completely utilitarian and functional space, and yet the tools, the lighting and every single surface covered in varying transparencies of clay dust creates a setting that has an impact on everyone who visits it.

Over the past 12 years of our friendship, there have been moments when Guy and I will take a break from making pottery and go into town for breakfast or browse the local shops. It always amuses me to notice glances from strangers who are trying to figure out what the dynamic is between me and Guy. That’s endearing to me — to realize that what brought two strangers together was a deep passion for clay, the potter’s wheel and an obsession to keep learning by doing.

In my final year of college, I read an article about Guy in Martha Stewart Living. At the time, I’d already been throwing pottery for eight years, and learning about Guy’s flowerpots and the historic inspiration behind their shapes made me realize that this was the person I wanted to learn from. I picked up the phone and called, asking if I could possibly apprentice with him over the summer. He politely declined, explaining that every hour of every day in the shop was time he needed to spend making pots, not teaching.

I felt defeated, but wondered if I could convince him that I would not get in his way, that I’d be happy to just be there and watch, and that I’d gladly do the grunt work of emptying slop buckets and mopping the floors. So I wrote him a letter in calligraphy and was thrilled when he said that I could come down for a visit. That was the summer of 2009.