Warren Mackenzie has had a profound influence on a great many potters – especially the ones whose work and reflections you’ll see on the following pages. And he didn’t do it by forcing his vision. Mike Norman describes his teaching style as “guided, yet hands-off.” To Nancy d’Estang, he was “always sensitive, never imposing.” MacKenzie the teacher was a powerful, yet gentle, force in their creative lives.

But if these 15 protégés’ experiences were similar, the results were not. Warren MacKenzie did not produce clones. What is evident in the work of his students and apprentices is a striking diversity; these potters were steeped in a singular approach to clay, yet felt entirely free to find their own voices. Here, we share their reflections on their mentor, in their own words. ~The Editors 

Wayne Branum
Roberts, Wisconsin
As a student, I was lucky enough, with a few others, to build a wood-fired kiln on Warren’s rural property. We stayed over during firings and were able to eat and spend time with Warren outside of the academic environment. This was the best time to learn things that became important to me and shaped me as a person and artist. We ate from pots of potters we had read about. It was amazing to me, a boy from a blue-collar suburb having almost nothing to do with art in my life previously. My life was never the same. 

Jeff Oestreich
Taylors Falls, Minnesota
Warren taught me that pots are not meant to impress anyone, but rather to quietly blend into daily life; their message is revealed slowly over time. The most significant impact he has had on me is the importance of making pots on a daily basis, making against all odds. We both lost our first studios to fires. He continued to make on his front porch until his new studio was built – and I in my kitchen. He also taught me that a potter’s rewards aren’t external but come from the making. The opening up of his life to us as a potter was his best teaching tool.

Randy Johnston
River Falls, Wisconsin
Warren is a potter and teacher who has passed to us his spiritual wisdom and assured a continuous legacy for the generations of potters who follow. He is an important, direct link to the philosophies of Bernard Leach, Shoji Hamada, and Soetsu Yanagi. Through his example, he has shown us that the making of pottery is a creative and physical activity, one that draws on the intellect and the emotions, the conscious and subconscious. His standards are high, and there is great integrity and strength in the work. The pots Warren has produced for everyday use have a powerful autonomous presence and artistic meaning.

Maren Kloppmann
Minneapolis, Minnesota
My first studio after graduating was set up in Stillwater, Minnesota, just two miles from Warren’s. I called him to inquire about the unused salt kiln outside his studio. Warren generously let me convert it to soda and make it my kiln for the seven years I fired it. One time while unloading the kiln, my future husband and I asked him if he would be best man in our wedding. Without hesitation, Warren replied: “Of course! Just give me 24 hours’ notice.” Regularly firing at Warren’s included many great conversations about pots. Besides the vases and lidded boxes I made then, there were also larger coil vessels. Giving me feedback one time, he said: “You know, I like your work a lot, as different as it is from what I do; but those coil vessels really lack structure.” Now I realize how much I took his words to heart; my present work is all about structure.

Nancy d’Estang
Old Mystic, Connecticut
His influence was profound, yet always sensitive, never imposing. Over many years, in letters and phone conversations, Warren has followed his students’ lives and careers, chiding us when we’re not responsible and productive, criticizing and praising the work as we go along, always insisting that pots be “useful,” “affordable,” “available to all.” Echoing Bernard Leach, he demands integrity in the pots and in the person – and in himself. He is critical of his own work, constantly expects even more of himself, and works harder than anyone. He wants the work to communicate with the user, to be comfortable, nonaggressive, nonintellectual, simply honest, with lasting subtleties. Fads come and go; Warren eschews them. His work becomes even stronger as he ages; its character is fresh, lasting, satisfying, and “right,” as always, in its classic tradition.

Guillermo Cuellar
Shafer, Minnesota
In 1992, Warren and his wife, Nancy, visited Venezuela to lead workshops. They lodged at the beautiful home of ceramic artist Noemí Márquez, who headed the local potters’ group that had invited them. Classes were held in studios across town. One day at breakfast they heard fireworks and assumed someone was celebrating. Time passed and Warren repeatedly expressed concern that it was past time to get to class. Finally, reluctantly, Noemí had to admit that the fireworks were actually a military coup. Armed rebels had stormed the presidential palace, and Warren and Nancy had to stay put. It was a rare day when his mind was distracted from pots! Warren’s enduring impact on me is as a compelling model of what a potter’s life can be. My studio is structured largely by what I observed working in his studio and watching his process, from materials to finished work to getting the pots out to an audience.

Dick Cooter
Two Harbors, Minnesota
Warren’s work ethic and commitment to functional pots are an inspiration and a humbling example. His enthusiasm and sense of joy in the making of pots rubbed off on me, I like to think. An important memory from the university is the sound of Warren’s laughter ringing through the studio. Here’s a story: About 20 years ago, I was building a new kiln, and Warren offered me some brick for the door and said I could pay him later because he would have to look up what he’d paid. The next time I saw him, he still didn’t know what he’d paid. Weeks later, I asked again what I owed him, and he said, “Damn it, Dick, stop asking me about that brick.”

Sandy Simon
Berkeley, California
Clay people like to have fun, and I learned early on in my career that Warren is no exception. Burned in my memory is a scene from an NCECA conference in the mid-1970s. A bunch of us, including Warren, had been partying in someone’s hotel room. At some point, don’t ask me why, we headed out and started crawling on all fours down the hallway of this upscale Toronto hotel. We’d pause at each door to sniff like dogs, checking for who knows what, eventually keeling over on the floor, dying of laughter. I thought, “Wow, these people have fun – even the teacher is a little crazy.”

Mark Pharis
Roberts, Wisconsin
I had been taking a few clay classes from other instructors in the University of Minnesota department of art and had only briefly met Warren. I was 19, maybe 20, and living at home still. One day in the mail I received an invitation to an exhibition that included Tim Crane’s work. Warren had somehow found my parents’ address and sent it to me, and on the inside he had scrawled, “Go see some good straight pots.” I was amazed he knew who I was. His home in the late ’60s was an amazing place. Along with my classmates, I was fortunate to have shared meals, conversation, and a few heated arguments about pots and politics with Warren and my peers. His house wasn’t grand in any way, but it was a genuine place where pots and art played a central role. It changed the way I thought about art, domestic space, and life in general. Warren loved, and still loves, to tell stories, which often felt like fables. They were completely enjoyable, but at their end was meaning. 

Linda Christianson
Lindstrom, Minnesota
Warren led by example. He showed us that it was possible to make a lot of pots and make a modest living. He opened his home and his life to those of us around him. Outspoken and generous, he made a lot of pots quickly, fired them, and got on with the next batch. In my kitchen, there is a stack of small, thickly glazed celadon plates he made years ago. There is always one in the sink and a few in the dish drainer. The pots of his that seem the simplest are the beloved ones that never sit in a cupboard.

Mike Norman
St. Paul, Minnesota
One of the most memorable events of my potting life happened in the summer of 1976. A group of us traveled to Japan with Warren. It was wonderful, bouncing from one old mingei pottery site to another, ending at Shoji Hamada’s home and studio. Warren’s energy, curiosity, knowledge, and spirit spilled over onto us like an overflowing fountain. Warren’s openness to all types of work and his encouragement to explore my wild ideas helped guide me to the path I’m on. I remember his teaching style as lighthearted and disciplined. His approach was sort of guided, yet hands-off. He stressed the fundamentals and encouraged imagination. Within the boundaries of good health and safe practices, nothing was off-limits.

Michael Simon
Athens, Georgia
I remember a phone call, maybe two years ago, maybe not that long ago. Warren had a new kiln and was having a little bit of trouble with it. He was frustrated about how long it had taken to get the kiln load into the kiln. He said he couldn’t wait until he could fire it; he was very anxious to get the pots in the kiln. Then he said, “You know, I think it will be the best one yet” – which just made me laugh. After decades of making pots, he still had just this overwhelming excitement about doing it. And it was just driving him, even after all that time. He felt like he was going to see the best thing he had done yet! It was kind of beautiful. He didn’t laugh, but it made me laugh. All those kiln loads, and he was still so excited and hopeful about the potential outcome.

Jan McKeachie Johnston
River Falls, Wisconsin
Perhaps the most important impact Warren has had on me is his unwavering commitment to functional pots. In my life, my heart, and my work, the most important thing is the joy of making and using functional ceramics. I often say that Warren has given me permission to make bowls without the pressure of always looking for something new. I call it “bowl therapy,” and it has saved me many hours of counseling in times of distress. I dearly remember leaving his home after a dinner party one evening, and from the door Warren exclaimed, “Make more pots!” That has always stayed with me, and I occasionally say it to others.

Marlene Jack
Barhamsville, Virginia
As a new graduate student, a “rookie,” I remember going out to Warren’s house for a potluck with other graduates and potters from the area. I especially remember his bookshelves outside the kitchen, filled with his collection of tea bowls from various potters. You chose the one you wanted to use that night. The fact that he invited his students into his home and shared his personal life made a deep impression on me, which I carried later into my own teaching style, when I invited my own students to come into my home. My time as his student cemented the aesthetic foundation of my work and its development. Although my own work moved through different stages, the essence was always the same. He taught me an appreciation for the Eastern aesthetic of “less is more,” and although my work does not hold strictly to that tradition, I am constantly seeking a quiet balance between surface and form.

Tim Crane
Brownsville, Minnesota
Warren attracted and stimulated a stunning number of students who became potters, while at the same time attracting and stimulating a buying public who not only supported him but also the next generation of clay artists. The one story that is essential Warren, for me, is his persistence in sending Bernard Leach some of his best pots for critique. He did this many times, and the results were always the same: The best Leach could say was basically that Warren should “keep trying.” Fortunately for us all, Warren kept chugging along – and continues to do so – and the clay community he gave birth to continues to develop and expand.