I never would have imagined that making my first clay pot could be a tutorial in patience, humility, community history, and why I should lift weights more often. Surely I could take a hunk of clay and make it into something more attractive than its current lumpy condition. I was at the Eastern Market Pottery Studio as a guest. Having completed my interviews to write this article, I was invited to try my own hand at the craft. One ought to know one’s subject after all.

I began wedging (kneading) the clay to remove air bubbles. It seemed unnaturally hard, and I could hear the air squishing in instead of coming out. Everyone else was moving awfully fast and looking a bit like professional bakers readying bread for the oven, but a sweat was breaking out across my brow. Veteran teacher Audrey Jones stepped in, showing me how to move the clay so that it resembled a squished ram's head. Now my ram and I had finally reached an understanding. When the clay was formed into a mostly uneven ball that in no way resembled the smooth ones made by others, I headed to the wheel with my hostess, longtime student and neighbor Carolyn Ward.

Carolyn, a studio regular for several decades, demonstrated how to “throw” a pot, her right foot operating the pedal and her arms firmly braced for control. It was a fluid motion that quickly morphed the soggy ball into a dainty dish. I took my turn, first “centering” the clay to make sure it wouldn’t go floppy. This was a feat of my nonexistent arm strength all over again, and the clay didn’t want to move up or down or out without a struggle. I operated the wheel mostly too fast, losing command of my subject. When it went too slow, nothing much happened. After some much-needed assistance, I had finally worked the clay into a wobbly, uneven dish made from the heart that had “Mother's Day gift” written all over it.

My ego was a little bruised as I hadn’t been the innate potter I had imagined, but I just knew my next try would be a symphony in clay. In accordance with this life lesson, the second pot fell apart when the bottom wore too thin and one side started to roll over. A student casually remarked that even if I had succeeded, it could all be ruined at any moment. The pot could crack open in the kiln if there was an air bubble trapped inside, it could break while I was painting it, or I could decide in the end that it was really wasn’t good enough after all, opting to send it to pottery heaven. Then why not just buy my pottery rather than watch my own creations live their existence eternally on the edge? To create one glorious – or even substandard – piece takes time and plenty of trial and error. I realized at that moment that pottery is a lesson in letting yourself fail sometimes, only to try again. It just takes patience. 

In 1968, experienced potter Harold Guilland was at work on his book, “Early American Folk Pottery.” He opened the Eastern Market Pottery Studio in leased storage space that had once served as a lunchroom. It hovered above a flight of twisting stairs behind the fish market. Guilland built the studio’s first kiln, stocked the space with equipment, and brought in secondhand furniture. It was a period in time when people were freethinking, earthy and imaginative. Capitol Hill was just starting to flourish, and residents spent more time working on their houses than on their status. During the summer of 1970, Chuck Brome arrived to take evening classes from Guilland, and less than one year later, Brome was a “mudrat” apprentice. A short time later, Guilland left, publishing his book and selling the pottery business to Wayne Skinner. Skinner quickly moved on as well and sold out to Brome, who used his savings to take on ownership just a few years later.

            During these transitions, current teacher Susan Jacobs entered the scene and eventually become an apprentice herself. The teachers sold their wares on Saturdays - $2 coffee mugs, bowls and cups - on the market’s grassy knoll that was later bricked over to create a promenade. Some days were profitable, and some weren’t. They were the sole crafters for years before the artisans and antiques dealers arrived to join food vendors on weekends, and their clientele was mostly local. As they tell it, the group was a silly bunch, often playing pranks and even encasing the old pay phone inside the studio with clay. By the mid-1970’s, the teachers had added several studio shows during the year – one in the spring, a couple each fall, and then a holiday sale in December. In 1979, Chuck Brome set out for the Shenandoah Valley to create and sell his own pottery, but he still maintained the lease, paid the bills, and came in every few weeks for repairs. Jacobs took over daily management, Brome stayed on as proprietor, and this arrangement continues today.

In September of 1987, “The Hill Rag” ran an article on pottery in Washington, with most of its focus on the Eastern Market studio. During her interview at the time, Susan Jacobs reflected back on the shift in priorities that led people away from creativity and on to a faster pace, “ ‘In the late ‘60’s, and early ‘70’s, crafts were what people chose to do in their leisure time. So whether they stuck with it or not, you really had a greater interest somehow. People did macramé, they batiked; all sorts of crafts were popular. And then jogging came in and aerobics and health clubs.’ ”

Several remarkable students have come through the doors. Sally Cory arrived for class at the age of 68 and stayed some twenty years. A photograph of her hands, wrinkled with age, stills hangs in the studio as a testament to one’s ability to take on new challenges even late in life. Political wives found their way to this artistic endeavor. About 35 years ago, tennis partners Mrs. Rather and Mrs. Rumsfeld were regulars for a couple of months. “Little Mel”, son of the owner of Capitol Hill Poultry, wandered in through the back door as a child and was welcomed in for lunch and creative playtime a few times.

Each learner has their own talent and their own reason for coming. Many have joined together in recent years for student sales at homes on Capitol Hill. They encourage each other, critique each other and enjoy friendships outside the studio. A photo on the studio wall shows one class out for a day of bowling. The teachers have always been a diverse group too, each choosing an individual style of music for their evening of lessons. Their techniques, strengths and approach to demonstration are wildly different, but they all received rave reviews when I talked with their students. The instructors are: Holly Gwin (Monday), Ellen Jaffe (Tuesday), Susan Jacobs (Wednesday) and Audrey Jones (Thursday).

The studio seems trapped in time in its somewhat hidden top floor space above the push of shoppers on weekends. There is no answering machine and you are greeted by the same faces that have welcomed students and visitors for nearly 40 years. The Studio doesn’t publish a flashy brochure or direct you to a website. There is no air conditioning in the summer, so you sweat it out for your craft under the towering skylight for several months out of the year.

The teachers do their chores – cleaning, mixing glazes, firing completed pieces – just as they always have. And they still sell their work during an annual sale around Christmas and at various venues throughout the year, including in the studio itself. These vases, dishes, sculptures, and teapots are always on display in the studio space in a small room off to the side, an amazing exhibition of talent. You may enjoy them on a walk-in basis or by appointment when classes are not in session.

While doing my interviews in the studio for this article, a young woman somewhat shyly ventured in. She had been casually discussing pottery lessons with her friend on the subway when a nearby stranger piped in to suggest the Eastern Market Pottery Studio. She had never noticed it before and seemed amazed (and delighted) at its existence. Armed with the schedule, the recruit promised to return for classes. Knowing it or not, she had found a place that has endured for almost four decades, the neighborhood and its composition evolving just outside. Many of these teachers and their students have stayed for the long haul, creating, appreciating and learning - no matter how many bowls broke along the way. More will come, and the beautiful cycle of patience will continue.

“The key to everything is patience. You get the chicken by hatching the egg, not by smashing it.” (Ellen Glasgow)

Classes are held from 7-10 PM, Monday-Thursday with open studio time for all students on Saturdays. Enrollment is ongoing on a space-available basis, and beginners catch up quickly with guidance from the instructor. Tuition is $195 for six weeks and $290 for ten weeks, plus a small fee to cover the purchase of hand tools. Contact the studio at 202-544-6669 to learn more.

Amanda Molson was raised on Ninth Street, NE by parents Roy and Mary Martha Rockwell. She attended St. Peter’s School and now serves on the board of the Capitol Hill Restoration Society.