Ben Bates: The Love of Learning

Originally Published April, 2018 in Ceramics Monthly

Ceramic artist Ben Bates has always been surrounded by creativity. “Growing up, my parents were constantly exploring new ideas or simply trying to gure stuff out.”

Bates’ mother was an artist who could easily adapt her creativity in many different ways: she was a concert pianist, a seamstress, a knitter, she loved to cross-stitch, and she was also a great cook. “As a child, I spent a lot of time watching her and observing how easily she acclimated to all the different art forms.” Whatever she was doing, Bates was invited to join her and try it out for himself.

His father was much the same way. He was an aerospace engi- neer by trade, but at home he was quite the tinkerer. “He always had creative side projects going on and was constantly building or designing something. He loved to see how to make things work.” For a long time, his father’s hobby was leather making. He created saddlebags, guitar straps, belts, and one-off pieces. “Watching my dad’s skill with his hands and his passion for delving into things was very inspiring to me.”

Bates’ experiences as a child—not only watching and taking it in, but also getting involved and experiencing—gave him a life-long love of learning.

Life-long Learning

For the past twelve years, Bates has been teaching ceramics at the College of Lake County in Grayslake, Illinois, near Chicago. “For me, teaching and learning are always feeding off of each other. It really nurtures my creative energy and inspires my own work.” When he’s teaching, Bates loves to see ideas and techniques through his students’ eyes. It gives him a fresh perspective allowing him to learn along with them.

Bates’ love of learning led to the development of a process-oriented approach to his own pottery. Using information gained from previ- ous work, such as what may have worked or what could have been done differently, he adapts to implement changes with his next series.

This method not only developed from his educational background, but also from the multifaceted nature of pottery. “The properties of clay are unlike any other material,” Bates points out. “It has an unlimited variety of possibilities—too many for one lifetime, actually.”

In particular, Bates is fascinated by clay’s plasticity. This unique property is at the very heart of his technique. He attempts, with great determination, to gure out how to relate to this quality and really take advantage of it. “Clay captures a moment in time more authentically than most other artistic mediums.” It allows Bates to literally freeze the movement and spontaneity of the process in time. “That’s one of the beauties of clay: something that happens in the moment can truly be preserved.”

While wheel throwing is Bates’ primary method, he sees his thrown pieces as more of a slab created on the wheel that he can alter through handbuilding. “Once I get it off the wheel,” he says, “that’s when the handbuilding part kicks in. A lot of times, I’ll stretch it, crease it, and add stuff to it.” Sometimes a lid will start out thrown and then he’ll alter it to t a certain piece exactly. Other times, he’ll throw a teapot, but handbuild the spout, lid, and the handle.

Process as Collaboration

Bates likes to think of his process as a collaboration between himself, the materials, and the ring. And in this collaboration, he strives for a hybrid of some control and some letting go. “Usually, while throw- ing I’m kind of a perfectionist. The altering came out of an attempt

to loosen up these forms and make them more free owing.” He challenges himself to activate and loosen up his thrown forms, so they become a balance between control and something more organic. When Bates is altering a piece, he carefully studies how 

it was shaped on the wheel. Then, he looks for suggestions in the clay that tell him where the piece wants to go. “I try to imagine that the clay has something to tell me, so I watch for that.” In a way, he looks at the clay as hiding something and it’s his mission to reveal it.

While Bates’ background certainly gives him a great fondness for the history and traditions of the ceramics arts, he tries to maintain a rather loose balance between form and function with his pots. In- stead of creating something simply for utility, he asks himself: “how can I put my own voice into it, and my own ideas to reinvigorate it. 

I want the piece to go beyond just being utilitarian or functional,” he admits. “I’d like it to also function as something that activates the space around it or draws people in, but I’m not trying to make Expressionist art.”

When people come into a room, he wants them to gravitate toward the work and be as intrigued with it as he is. “My hope is that people will relate to just how much excitement there was for me in making it.”

Firing and Depth of Surface

When Bates rst began learning pottery, high-tem- perature ring was the primary approach being taught and it’s still his preferred method. This type of ring, especially wood ring, creates a depth of surface that he nds particularly captivating. But, he also likes the capriciousness of this method. “I admit; I do enjoy the riskiness of it. Not only is it intriguing, but high-tem- perature ring is also a way to really challenge myself.”

To avoid too much risk, Bates does a lot of plan- ning ahead of time. He draws out what he wants the nal glazed piece to look like, considering the entire process from start to nish. During this planning phase, he sketches out his pieces to best take advantage of all the different stages: from throwing, to altering, and nally to glazing and ring. He uses underglazes sometimes, but mostly uses ashing slips and around ten glazes that he developed. When looking at a n- ished piece, he asks himself: “How would a similar work look really wide or really elongated, stretched out, or squared versus rectangular or round?” Before he’s even wedged the clay, Bates decides where the resulting vessel is going to be placed in the kiln, how he wants the different surfaces to react with the glaze, and what ring method to use.

Bates acknowledges that every ring—especially when dealing with wood—holds a degree of uncertainty. “When I put the work into the kiln, I have all these expectations. If I side re it or I put it in a certain direc- tion, I think I’m going to get a spectacular looking piece. Then I go to unload the kiln and see the work for the rst time. Even with all the possible planning, there is an ele- ment of surprise and I marvel at the re’s interpretation of my work. More often than not a wood ring reveals unbelievable gems or a one-of-kind curiosity but there are also those pieces that take time to reveal their beauty to you later upon re ection.” He takes time to live with the work, explore it further, and learn to appreciate it for what it is.

Bates always comes back to the process. “Over a long period of time interacting with these materials, I just keep making little adjustments. The information I learned from my last ring, I then apply to my next body of work. It’s all a constant learning process.” Throughout, he looks for things that really spark an idea or a new direction to take. All the while, trying to stay exible with what he’s working on, at least enough to absorb ideas and information that he can then put back into the work. “It takes a long time for me to get something to look spontaneous,” he jokes.

The author MK Bateman is a writer and aspiring potter based in Warren, Vermont. After more than ten years in the entertainment industry, he shifted gears to complete an MFA in Creative Writing at the University of San Francisco. He has written and blogged about an assortment of subjects, including travel, food, health, lifestyle, and web content. To learn more, visit 


Hintergays, Part Two: Creating Community…One Relationship at a Time

Originally Published March 16, 2017 on

Vermont’s population has the highest percentage of LGBT citizens in the United States.  Since legalizing marriage and adopting strong laws to protect our community, the steady shift toward inclusion in the larger population has taken place.  Sure, in places like Burlington, there’s a strong queer population, but as a general rule we are living our lives in small towns as educators, politicians, shopkeepers and real-estate agents. 

After moving to Vermont, it seemed as though there were very few gay people in our vicinity.  My husband and I came to accept that this meant it would take time and patience to find our community.

“Follow Your Bliss.”  

This was our mantra when we packed our bags and moved from a studio apartment in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, to the first floor of our duplex house in Montpelier, Vermont, in July 2010.  

We had a good plan. We were going to rent half the duplex, and use the rent to pay our mortgage. This way, we were financially free and could take time to find careers we loved, rather than jumping into jobs we didn’t necessarily want.  Some thought we were insane, but as Erica Jong warned, “If you don’t risk anything, you risk even more.”

Within a month, my husband got a job at a large ski resort in guest services.  His hours were terrible, and the commute was long, but he skied every day. His journey toward bliss began in earnest just two months later when he was offered a job in the resort’s real-estate office. 

My struggle to make a living as a full-time writer took a little longer.  I got work through a temp agency at a local microlender, which lasted a few months. Freedom from the pressure of finding a high-paying position allowed me to get a “fun” job to pay my share of the bills. I found work at a local organic bakery.  I continued to pursue my writing career, but my day job was working with people in the community.  

Hintergay life was an adjustment; don’t be fooled.  Growing up in suburban New Jersey and then living in large urban centers for 20 years could never have prepared me for life in a rural community.   In many ways, moving to Vermont, 400 miles away, was far more disconcerting than my previous move to California, 3,000 miles away.   

The real difficult adjustments came down to one word: accessibility.

When you live in New York City, everything is only a phone call or text away.  Have a headache?  Call the deli and get medicine delivered.  Want to be around other gay people?  Walk up the block to the nearest bar, coffee shop or gym.  Everything is easy to find and close.

In Vermont…not so much.  People, places and things are all a little tougher to access. Aside from a major appliance, you aren’t going to find much in the way of delivery.  Not that you can’t find your favorite foods, or the right pair of jeans or even a gay community…it just takes a little longer and a little more exploring.  The solution is both simple and difficult: You have to change the way you do things.  

Truth be told, as progressive and liberal as Vermont is, it took us time to chip away at the locals’ reserved nature, and, gradually, have people open up to us. When people found out we were new arrivals, the questions on most of their lips were, “Do you have a good pair of winter boots?” or “Do you have winter tires?”

s a couple of gay, married guys, we were a bit of a mystery to some. Others viewed us as just another pair of “flatlanders”—people who move from other areas to the mountains. Vermonters do things a certain way, and no one is going to change that.  If you understand that, then you’ll do just fine here.  

Case in point: coffee.  In New York, I used to stop by Starbucks every morning on the way to work.  In Vermont, the closest Starbucks to us is 40 minutes away.  When I relayed this fact to my best friend who happens to live in Los Angeles, there was dead silence on the other end of the line.  Yet, it was not the end of the world. Honest! When I got out of my own way, I discovered that Vermont has its own amazing, locally roasted coffee. With this glorious revelation, I haven’t had the desire to set foot in another Starbucks again, and, quite frankly, couldn’t care less how far or near one is. 

As soon as we started to consider ourselves locals and stopped focusing on the major differences between “here” and “there,” an amazing thing happened. We created our own community.  We met our neighbors, a lesbian couple who had moved in together just a few months before we moved to Vermont.  A customer at the bakery and his husband became close friends, as did the owners of a local B and B and their group of friends.  Now, many years later, we have an entire community of LGBT friends from all walks of life.

Are you a Hintergay? Do you live outside a major urban area, in a small town, or in a rural community anywhere in North America? If so, I would love to hear your story. Email me at

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