Moon Jar №14
by Amara Osei
A cooperative ceramics studio · est. 2019 · batch-fired
Kiln Collective is twenty-three potters sharing four kilns in a former print shop. We sell what we make in small numbered batches, teach the wheel to anyone with clean-ish hands, and rent benches to people who can't stop. Nothing here is mass-anything.
Every piece is thrown by a member, numbered on the foot, and photographed the morning it leaves the kiln. One of one means exactly that — when someone buys it, it's theirs and it's gone.
by Amara Osei
by Silas Marsh
by Amara Osei
Pieces ship on Thursdays, wrapped in last week's newspaper — or collect from the studio shelf and we'll put the kettle on.
Eight wheels, one teacher, aprons provided. Clay, firing and your first glaze are all included — you just bring hands and low expectations.
Three hours, one lump of clay, and the strange first joy of centering. You will leave with two pots and very short fingernails.
Why celadon crackles and tenmoku runs — the chemistry of the glaze wall without the chalkboard. Bring a bisqued piece to dip.
Two days chasing the roundest form there is. Thrown in halves on Saturday, joined and coaxed true on Sunday.
Full class? Join the waitlist and we'll save you a wheel in the next run — most classes repeat every six weeks.
Every member stamps their mark into the foot of each piece — the same way potters have signed work for a thousand years. Here's who threw this batch.
Throws the largest forms in the studio and still calls every one of them a practice piece. Ten years at the wheel, four at this one.
in this batchBelieves a mug should feel like a handshake. Throws in runs of eight so nobody has to be precious about the everyday.
in this batchTeaches our beginner wheel nights. Her pitchers pour like they mean it — no dribble, no drama, a spout you can trust.
in this batchKeeps the cone charts, blends the studio glazes, and sits with every firing like it might get lonely. It might.
in this batchWe took the lease in 2019 with two wheels, a borrowed kiln and a theory: that a city this size had more potters than benches. The print presses left good bones — concrete floors that forgive dropped bats, north light that flatters nothing, and a loading door wide enough for a kiln delivery nobody measured twice.
Today the collective runs on a simple ledger: members keep 85% of every sale, the rest keeps the kilns hot and the clay bin full. Decisions get made at the long table on first Sundays, usually over whichever teapot survived the last glaze experiment.
Firings run on a shared calendar — bisque midweek, glaze on Fridays — and there is exactly one rule about the last inch of shelf space: ask.
A wheel of your own, a wedging table, the glaze wall, and a shelf with your name chalked on it. Access seven days a week, kiln space included.
[ Visit ]
Come put your hands in the mud.
First visits are free and floury. Saturday mornings we prop the doors, warm the teapot, and let you try a wheel before you commit to anything.