The Story of Joe Bennion and Horseshoe Mountain Pottery
Written By Tamara S. Wolfe for My Local Utah
It was a chilly, shimmery autumn day in Spring City, Utah. I lifted my ‘cup of Joe’ to enjoy a few sips at Das Café before heading down Main Street to Horseshoe Mountain Pottery, not yet realizing this warm brown lustrous mug holding my morning ‘wake-up’ was made by Horseshoe’s owner, ceramist Joe Bennion. As soon as I stepped into Horseshoe, the mug’s connection took shape as one of the shop’s shelves was brimming with similar works of art. I waved to Joe, sitting near the back, spinning his clay into a dinner plate on the same wheel he’s been connecting with for 43 years. Then, a story unfolded with as many unexpected turns as each time Joe evolves one of his uniquely beautiful creations. Joe grew up next door to his Uncle George, who had three children who loved to work with clay. They had a pottery studio and a kiln in their basement. Joe was constantly in and out of their home, watching them work with clay and thinking this was something he might want to do. However, when Joe entered Brigham Young University, he followed the path of much of his family, studying early childhood education to become an elementary school teacher.
But then the summer of 1974 happened…
Joe illuminates- “I was up in Northern California working in a logging operation to earn some money when I found myself with more time on my hands than I thought possible due to work stoppages. I ran into Mike and Harley, a couple of potters who owned a ceramic studio in Crescent City, and I asked them if I could do some pottery work. They let me hang out, and I became their mascot ⎼ I was this squeaky-clean young man from Utah, and they were classic West Coast hippies, so I was a novelty of sorts. Their studio consisted of a boxcar propped up on blocks. Their pottery wheel was made from a Maytag washing machine motor mounted on a steel frame with a Chevy 3-speed car transmission to change speeds and a wooden wheel head. It was wildly inventive but primitive compared to the equipment we have today. Back then, there were not very many wheel manufacturers around. And Mike and Harley came up with this wheel, which was pretty cool. They would get up early and make pottery until about noon, then slip on their wetsuits and go surfing, leaving me to mess around in the studio. They gave me assignments like cleaning the kiln shelves, repairing the chimney, and mixing clay. In the evening, they would return to check on their pottery, then head out to play blues and rock and roll at a roadhouse on Highway 1. On Sundays, they traded pottery for fish down at the docks and then held a big fish fry served up on the stoneware they made. Every hippie in Del Norte County showed up to savor homemade beer, wine, salads, bread, cheese, and heaps of fried fish and music. I soaked in my time with Mike and Harley and thought, this could be the life. There was a freestyle rhythm to how they lived each day, which was the most significant influence on my life.”
For Joe, those Sunday fish feasts offered much more than just a meal. They were a place where everyone was welcome, the community gathered, and the symbiotic relationship between food, pottery, friends, and family became central to his artistry. He formed an ethic and promised ⎼ to make pottery to serve nourishment and memories in the kitchen, at the table, and among people wherever they gathered. And Mike and Harley’s daily tradition of catching the waves has beckoned Joe to do the same ⎼ for years he has been dividing his time between his craft and running rubber boats with his wife, Lee, down the white waters of the Grand Canyon River.
When Joe returned to BYU in the fall, he took the road less traveled and entered the ceramics
program. Soon after, he began pursuing a Masters in Fine Arts when he suddenly hit headlong into a roadblock. A faculty bias against the utilitarian pottery he so loved to create stranded him on the brink of being dropped from the MFA program if he continued to make his chosen art form.
That is until Ceramics Monthly came along…
In Joe’s words- “I was in San Antonio at a big ceramic educators conference when I met Bill Hunt, the editor of Ceramics Monthly magazine, one of the biggest pottery platforms in the world. I had the chance to show Bill a sheet of 20 transparencies of my work. He said, ‘I like what you are doing.’ And he asked me to send him some 3” x 5” transparencies of my work. I came home and withdrew $600 from the bank, which was a lot, as I was a student living on fumes. However, I found a student in product photography to shoot several pieces of my work, and I submitted 3” x 5” transparencies to Ceramics Monthly, along with some black and white prints and descriptive content. I waited and waited and waited for a page or two to show up. But when I opened the December 1986 Issue of Ceramics Monthly, Bill had given me a seven-page spread, five of which were color and two black and white. It was remarkable. The next time I met with my graduate committee, I had the seven-page spread in hand, which, in essence, was my entire graduate show artfully displayed in a magazine. And the committee conceded that I should get my MFA degree. So, I owe a lot to Bill, who has since retired but remains my dear friend.”
After the spread in Ceramics Monthly, it seemed as if everyone wanted Joe to visit their school and teach. He accepted an invitation to conduct a two-week workshop at Pewabic Pottery, a ceramic studio and school in Detroit, Michigan. The woman who had hired him imparted the kind of observations and wisdom Joe will never forget. She shared that my art speaks about utility and the quietness of pottery used in everyday life. She could see what I was conveying through my work. Her advice- “Don’t look behind you, don’t look to the left, don’t look to the right, and don’t look at what’s selling in the boutiques and galleries. Look at what people need and stick to your guns; you will find your niche. You will find your market. Don’t make your work fit an existing market.”
Destined for Spring City…
Joe and Lee sought the same quietness that emanated from his artistry in an area where they could raise their family. So, in 1979, they moved to Spring City, and in 1980, they opened Horseshoe Mountain Pottery. Joe describes- “It’s the quiet I love about this place, in cadence with the sounds of the local animals. Once in a while, you hear a dog barking, and in the morning, you hear a lot of roosters crowing. You can still hear cattle off in the background or a donkey braying. It’s a peaceful life. It is a far cry from my boyhood days when I loved playing with matches and accidentally lit an abandoned cherry orchard on fire. I found myself arrested at the ripe old age of eleven. But you know, my passion for fire has now been shaped into my pots. The wood-burning kiln I own shoots up this massive fire where I am required to stoke and prod it to produce the perfect heat for bisque firing my ceramics and finishing them with glazes of warm, rich colors. Firing up that kiln is my legal way of staying out of trouble and enjoying those brilliant flames.”
And from those flames have arisen the most artful works of utilitarian pottery, catching fire with the local folks and those who travel across the country to purchase a box full of Joe’s pottery. Every customer can count on Horseshoe’s door always being open, even when Joe and Lee are away for weeks, guiding rafts down the river. Joe leaves a giant jar to drop cash or checks into and a sheet to hand record each purchase. But even when Joe is absent, every customer can still feel the presence of their hands, tools, and fire that have shaped and shined each work of art. This kind of connection cannot be manufactured. Instead, it’s the raw, genuine kind born long ago in that summer of ‘74 when a couple of potters in Crescent City made Joe a part of their everyday life.