Marci Mendel White
A beloved member of the Athens arts community, potter Carter Gillies, died on Sept. 6 after a long struggle with colon cancer. He was only 58.
I first met Carter in the UGA ceramics department in 1990. At the time, he was a philosophy grad student and had signed up for a ceramics elective. I remember he immediately fell in love with all of it—the clay itself; the whole process of making pots; the generous, unpretentious, community feeling among ceramicists. Pretty soon he’d decided that clay was his true calling and dropped out of the philosophy program to get a BFA, then a Masters in ceramics. He pursued his vocation with passion, and over time became an excellent potter.
He taught ceramics classes at Good Dirt, our local community clay center, for many years. He built a studio behind his house on Nantahala Avenue, and held pottery sales there which were regular, anticipated town events. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of people own and use his beautiful pots, and he took a lot of joy and pride in that.
Though he lived alone, and like any visual artist could be very solitary, he was also quite social and loved how his pottery sales were community happenings. He was always ready and willing to offer help and advice, especially when it came to pots and art.
He was so encouraging to me when I started doing ceramics again in 2015, after a long hiatus. I was nervous about my kiln set-up, and he came over several times to make sure I wasn’t going to accidentally burn my house down, and to do the post-firing rundown with me.
I’d say a couple of Carter’s main passions were cultivating an appreciation for hand-crafted objects in everyone he met, and encouraging children to express themselves creatively. He felt it was so important to be kind to children, to show an interest in their ideas and to help them feel empowered to be creative.
Here’s what he wrote in 2015 about a new idea he had for his pottery sales: “This is my message to kids regarding the ornaments at my sales this season: Kids can get them for a song! This season I want to make an ornament available in trade with kids who are willing to share a few verses of a song, tell me a story, either made up on the spot or from among your favorites, or draw me a picture of something your imagination comes up with. I want to help you feel that your creativity has real value in the world and that the world has a place for doing creative things. I want to make this a trade because I want to honor your creativity but also your generosity. The world needs more creative acts freely given, because these things matter. I hope you continue to express yourselves creatively throughout your lives.”
He’d made a whole bunch of tiny cups, teapots and stars as ornaments.
After the sale, he wrote this: “This was positively the best idea I have ever had! There were so many kids who showed up with drawings in hand, some with their own drawing supplies, and I heard a joke, a few stories and a handful of songs, one of which was accompanied by my friend Harper also playing the ukulele as she sang the Muppets’ ‘Rainbow Connection’ song. (I cried a bit as she was singing…)”
He was a tender-hearted person, and cried easily.
Carter truly benefited his community and enriched many lives, including mine. He was sad to have his life cut short by cancer. He regretted not going to a doctor sooner when he was feeling crummy for a long period of time. He’d tell everyone to not neglect your health; don’t take your health for granted. Go get regular check-ups, get a colonoscopy when it’s time, and do all the preventative health screenings.
These last few years his life, by necessity, revolved around caring for his health. He had to give up pottery, and many other things. But he still loved seeing his friends and family, enjoyed discussing matters both big and small with everyone who came into his sphere, being with his cats, reading books, watching his garden grow and just being outside. He loved life and would have liked to have stuck around a lot longer, contributing to this grand dance.
In his own words: “…When I was diagnosed with terminal cancer it would have been so easy to turn to a dark place. Somehow I didn’t. I have seen folks dealing with tragedy and stress become worse versions of themselves but this isn’t a foregone conclusion. I knew I couldn’t be my old self any longer. I had to change. But I also understood that this tragedy of a shortened life was a gift in some ways. It was a wake up call to the need to be my best self to the best of my ability. Crisis can break us, make us small and petty, or it can help us aspire to values that really matter.
“With that in mind, make sure to love the people in your life and keep them close. Don’t take this time for granted. Be gracious and giving. There are many who are struggling and cannot lift themselves up. Be there for them. Make kindness your daily mantra. You know what to do. It isn’t a secret. Sometimes it simply takes a crisis or tragedy for us to refocus on what really matters. Cherish this opportunity to face forward undistracted. Live well. Be your best self, no matter what the future brings. Love to you all.”
Jessica & Rob Sutherland
Last month, Athens lost a kind, artistic, gentle soul. Carter Gillies died on Sunday night, Sept. 6, after a long battle with colon cancer.
Good Dirt was lucky enough to have Carter teach with us for a decade, and he made us all better in the process. During that time, he introduced so many people to the joy of creating functional art. He was a teacher in every bone and every cell of his body: patient, kind, encouraging, creative, loving. He knew when to push and when to comfort, how to inspire and how to give space for your growth. He challenged you to find your voice, to find your approach to clay (and to life), and to find yourself in the messy process of it all. He valued people and their individual voices, and was a philosopher, artist, teacher and friend.
When I (Rob) found out that Carter was a serious student of philosophy before discovering pottery, it made so much sense. Carter didn’t just make pots to sell. He cared deeply about what he was creating and what place it would occupy in the daily lives of people all over Athens and beyond. Every gesture in his fluid forms was practiced and refined to be the best it could be. Every detail was considered because he wanted to put pieces of himself into the world. Art lived in his hands, and he viewed himself only as a co-creator to the process and the happening. He embraced the surprise and serendipity of the clay having a voice, and you see it in the freedom and magic of his work.
He lived his beliefs in ways that were rare and truly special. He was the kindest, most thoughtful and gentlest man I’ve ever met. He practiced vegetarianism to do his part to care for other creatures and the planet. He traveled around Athens by bicycle because he couldn’t stand the thought that an error behind the wheel could harm someone else. As a teacher and mentor, he gave his students his best in every class so that they could find their own connection to art and develop their own personal voice. As an artist of the community, he taught children that they were makers, too, and that what they created was important and magical. He traded his work for theirs, “for a song” and, for years, children in Athens created memories when they went to Carter’s sales, when they worked up the courage to sing or play an instrument, when they saw that their drawing was “good enough” to trade for “real” pottery, when they were able to see themselves and their creativity as valuable. He wasn’t just a teacher, he was a believer in people.
We find ourselves going through our collection and using all of his pieces this week, holding on to him in the only way that we know how. Anyone who is lucky enough to have his pieces knows that Carter was an accomplished potter who made dynamic, lyrical, magical work. But, even more beautiful than the work was the man behind it. We’ll remember him best for his heart, for his kindness, for his love of humans and his ability to nurture their creative journey. He set hearts aflame for art all across town, listening to and valuing the art of children in ways that we should all hope to emulate.
When I first started teaching at Good Dirt, I (Jess) would often sit right outside the door of Carter’s class when he was teaching, hidden from sight, and just listen. His classes were little communities—pockets of love and support that inspired me as a teacher, and showed me what I wanted to try to become in my own classroom. He had the devotion of his students for a reason, and it had very little to do with the end product on the wheel, although he always helped people to find what was possible within themselves, and that often resulted in something uniquely them and therefore something uniquely beautiful. He had a way of teaching you how to be a better human on the way to learning how to make a better pot.
So much of what I (Rob) do when I sit at the potter’s wheel is informed by Carter’s philosophy of making, and when I teach, I try to emulate what I saw in his teaching. Carter always emphasized exploration and practice. His lessons weren’t “how-to’s” for a specific form, they were exercises to build skills that applied to the whole process. His timed handle-pulling warm-up exercises were legendary, and often feared. He would pass his wet demo pots around the class just to show that it’s okay to touch the clay, even fresh off the wheel. His fearless approach to clay inspired so many of us at Good Dirt. I’ll be digesting a lot of his lessons for as long as I make pots, and I think that’s how he would have wanted it. He didn’t believe in easy answers, just a series of steps in the direction of greater understanding, deeper connection to the work, and generosity with the time and skill that goes into each piece.
It’s been remarkable to read the stories about Carter and to see the photos of his work scattered across the homes in Athens, knowing that his reach was far, and that his memory and his work will be in our lives, reminding and inspiring us, for years and years to come.
We thought the best way to honor Carter was to keep his mission of valuing and encouraging the art and creativity of children alive. While we can certainly never fill the void he’s left in our community, we will carve out a space to honor what was important to his heart. Even though our December sale will most likely be canceled again for COVID safety concerns, at every future Good Dirt Holiday Sale (with the the hope of enlisting the Good Dirt community and Carter’s former students), we’ll be setting up a children’s table in his honor, accepting drawings, songs, paintings, dances and any other form of creative expression from children as payment for a child’s-sized piece of pottery.
Good Dirt was better with you. Athens was better with you. Thank you for being a teacher to us all.
“Touch clay once and the world is already different.” -Carter Gilles
“I believe that the world is filled with magical and splendorous beauty. This is especially true of the natural world. Handmade crafts and food, the visual and performing arts, and love and human kindness are things that people do which taps into this transcendent quality. I make pots in an attempt to explore this.” -Carter Gilles
Dan ‘Farnz’ Schwartz
Your Body
The last time I saw you your body had been carved up by surgeons,
To keep you alive,
Purple scars and divots along your front right side and in your belly
Where cancerous liver and intestine were cut away
And I was having trouble watching you struggle and suffer,
But you were not complaining, you were not angry, you were not sad, you were just being, and listening
The quote above your bed says ‘what do I need to do?’
Simple, clear, focused on now
You love your cats, you complain about their sufferings, but rarely your own, except for an occasional “that was a rough week”
After chemo
Master potter is your vocation,
Your house is filled with pottery, most of it made by you, some of it made by friends and
acquaintances
And when anyone compliments something particularly beautiful that you made, you say “I was present when it was made”
When you talk about death, you say that knowing that it was coming sooner than you expected was a great blessing
Huh?
Yes, you say you started living the day you were told you were going to die
What?
Yes, you want to make a difference in the lives of others who are also struggling with a terminal illness, and in the lives of others who are not struggling with a terminal illness
You’ve gone right on with your philosophizing about everything, contributing to educational concepts, advocating for the valuation of art for its own sake, the value of not trying to create for acclaim but for its own sake
To communicate and to spread joy, love, beauty
You continued to deepen your connection to the world, to express this connection, to express love and care and humility and communicate with your neighbor (however difficult they may be, with their big trucks blocking the entrance to your house) and seek to understand, be understood, to live the ideals that show love of neighbor
You continue in this desire, deeper still, and I am amazed
You wanted to make a difference, a positive contribution to this world
Well, Carter, that is you
(that’s all you’ve ever aspired to
and you are a great and inspiring success)
Geoff Pickett
I met Carter during the summer of 1990 when he was taking evening classes in pottery at UGA. At the time, he was an enrolled student working toward a doctorate in philosophy.
He showed a keen interest in pottery and was eager to learn—not really that unusual. However, what really struck me was that shortly I heard that he had abandoned his philosophy degree for a life in clay. A bold move indeed, no half measures, which was an aspect of Carter I admired.
As I got to know him better, he became a member of my crew in firing my woodburning kiln around the clock for several days at a stretch. We were a happy band of potters, with great enthusiasm for all things pottery, sometimes doing it quite ineptly, but we didn’t care—we were living the life, which seemed like it would continue forever.
Unfortunately, the ravages of time have taken a toll as now two members of that crew have passed before old age. I am happy to have known Carter for three decades or so, when he was what I thought of as “the Normaltown potter.” During his time running the pottery on Nantahala, I joined Carter for sales which he hosted twice a year. One feature of his events was his encouragement of children. He had a special sales area with pots designed for children, which they could obtain literally for a song, or a drawing or a story.
Carter’s commitment, focus and community spirit are just a few of the things I will miss about him.
David Lane Fisher
I have known Carter since we were children. His family moved to Powelton Village in West Philadelphia in the ‘70s after having lived in the Netherlands. Carter was dubbed “The Boy from Dutch” by one of a group of friends at our elementary school, Powel School. He introduced us to soccer and ran circles around us, and joined our pickup neighborhood football games, usually the fastest boy on the field. Carter lived catty-corner to me, and we became best friends and stayed good friends for almost four decades.
As teenagers, we shared a love of Tolkien and fantasy, the natural world, sci-fi, sports and music, and five of us from the neighborhood played many strategy games and dove deeply into D&D. High school and junior high can be challenging, but friendships forged then can be so strong. Even as a child and teenager, Carter was generous, adventurous, full of humor and curiosity, but also serious and deep.
My brother Matthew, friends with Carter’s brother Jordy, said recently Carter “always felt like a man from another age, born out of our time.” Carter and I bore witness to each other’s lives, through winding paths of grad schools, career redirections and all that life is, goods and bads. When he settled in Athens, and found pottery (or it found him), he seemed to have found his calling, and a deep contentment. He became a part of a wonderful community of artists and a great neighborhood. He was solitary, but valued friendships and meaningful interactions and conversations.
I am so grateful that we renewed our friendship before he became ill, that I was able to come and stay with him after his diagnosis and before the pandemic, and for our many long conversations. I can’t articulate what he meant to me as a friend and as a person, I admired him and loved him dearly. My son, Dylan (12), never met him in person, but they both enjoyed speaking over FaceTime to each other; Carter had a gift with children. He was truly a good soul and will stay in our memories and in our hearts.
Bart King
I met Carter Gillies a few months after I moved back to Athens in 2004. I heard about the pickup soccer game at Bishop Park and showed up—a bit nervously—hoping it would be a friendly group. I hadn’t been on the field five minutes when Carter came over, introduced himself and welcomed me to the game. Over the next seven or eight years, I played two or three times a week and built friendships with Carter and dozens of other players from across the country and abroad. Anytime someone new showed up, Carter was always the first to introduce himself and make the player feel welcome. Over the years, our friendship extended off the field. I was impressed by his commitment to the artistic life and his deeply considered philosophical views.
I own numerous pieces of pottery that Carter made, including my favorite coffee mug. I love the way it feels in my hand, but just as much, I enjoy staying in touch with him—remembering his kindness and thoughtful approach to life. I’m sad that he’s gone, and I’m grateful to have such beautiful reminders of who he was.
Gail Tomczak Tarver
Carter Gillies was my friend for over two decades. We met in 1998 when I began a job at the old Phoenix Natural Food Market at Broad and Pulaski, and he was a manager there. He was a flighty puzzle at first. Kind, but intense and obsessive. He was not a natural manager, it was much more about a commitment to the value of the store to the community. I say this not as a criticism, but more of an insight into how he came to mellow out over the years.
Enjoying food was one of Carter’s favorite pastimes. As a single vegetarian bachelor, he was among the first to bring in brands like Annie’s and Ben & Jerry’s. He had to try every one! And of course the vessels he served the food in elevated the experience.
He taught me that people bought ice cream more in the winter than in the summer, hypothesizing it was comfort food, and he brought in stroopwafels, a favorite from his childhood in the Netherlands.
While he didn’t shy away from deep conversations (he was a philosophy and anthropology student prior to finding pottery), I sensed a fear to let go at times. It frustrated both of us.
He never drove or owned a car as long as I knew him. Despite a bum knee from a long time playing soccer at the YMCA, bicycling was his method of transportation. But inevitably, pottery shows or special circumstances, including later chemo treatments, required four-wheeled intervention. He relied on many a friend to ferry him about which likely strengthened friendships, at least it did for ours.
Between numerous classes, pottery sales and gifts, his spirit-imbued pots have likely spread far and wide. I am blessed to have at least a dozen, my favorite of which is a matte blue teapot marked with a glossy stamp of Carter’s handprint across the front.
I think pottery-making for Carter was a balance he appreciated—a place of peace while also a constructive place to obsess. An outlet for manifestations.
We spent the last two springs and summers purchasing flowering perennials for the birds and pollinators in his garden sanctuary at his home on Nantahala. It was such a pleasure to observe his delight and the energy he mustered to nurture the plants despite chemo.
Our recent talks were usually pleasantly exhaustive. A project with my work had brought up the subject of preserving outdoor sculptures, which wove itself into a treatise Carter had been putting together arguing for the undervalued importance of art to civilization as a whole. The terminal-ness of his cancer unleashed a willingness in him to dive in and let go much more. And that was wonderful to witness.
Athens has a way of both attracting and cultivating some incredible souls, and Carter was definitely one of her dearest creatures.
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