The Potter

Margaret and dog, Princess: 1965

Margaret Dorothy Stabilit, born Margarita Dorothea Stabilito, was both a natural and degree-carrying craftsman. Earning more than one Masters degree in art history, pottery, and silver-smithing, she was also a certified K-12 art educator. Margaret put the latter on hold until her children were old enough to be in school and fairly self-sufficient. Early in her marriage she ran a successful pottery business in her home and it is from those early years I have the most intense memories of this woman's artistic talents, for Margaret was my mother.

In the heyday of "The Gingerbread House" pottery shop, so named because of the distinctive trim which edged the eaves of ours and so many of the pre-War homes in Trappe, Pennsylvania, there was never a clear space on any of the pink formica counters, for this was the work area for my mother's art. People called and visited the shop six days a week, but never did she allow the public to intrude on Sunday, for that day was devoted to God and family dinners (and I was never quite sure which one took precedence as weekly we enjoyed the wondrous and traditional roast beef dinner).

Distelfink plate

People would inquire if Mom shipped to certain countries and what she charged for one-of-a-kind clay tea sets like the one they had seen at their aunt's home or on display at the local artisan's show. Would she agree to go on location to sketch someone's house or place of business for a testimonial plate (she did)? Or could she match a plate that she had designed for someone years earlier? I loved the busyness of it all, and because I was her daughter, I felt important as I washed down the glazing table or cut the brown shipping paper as she wrapped finished orders on Fridays. I vicariously shared in the creative energy that embraced her art shop and soaked in her talents.
I always felt honored to be allowed to watch my mother create. I would stare at her hands as the red clay oozed from between her knuckles, awed to know that the mud under her nails never bothered her and that when she wasn't throwing clay, they would be meticulously clean. She'd dip her hand in the container of watery sludge that sat next to the spinning wheel, and while dripping water down the walls of her current creation, measured the speed of the wheel with her right foot on the treadle. Without fail, drops would fly out and splatter my face, propelled by the centrifugal force. It never mattered, though, because I was where I wanted to be, crushed in as close to my mother's side as I could manage without being a distraction. My eyes watered from staring, not wanting to miss a single moment of the process. Mesmerized, I watched the cylindrical pot emerge, the lump slowly drawn upward by her trained hands, then coaxed to hold the shape she chose. Through subtle, invisible pressure from thumbs and fingers, she'd create ridges and depressions that would ultimately be fired into a unique piece of art.

example of gingerbread trim

All manner of pots, plates, and pitchers took shape on her wheel which had been hand-built to specifications by my father. The wooden wheel was a mammoth grey structure that commanded the space in the shop's work area. On either side of the wheel were large galvanized steel trash cans that housed the various grades and colors of clay she used, with one set aside for trimmings to be recycled. Special care was always taken to insure the can lids were replaced tightly so the clay didn't dry out. Recycled tin cans sat across the back of the wheel, filled with the tools of her trade, the carvers, knives, and sponges which were needed to keep the clay wet and define shapes and designs. These were easily accessible for her one-hand-grab when a piece was in production and she didn't want to stop the wheel. Scattered throughout the shop were pieces in every stage of production: drying, painting, carving, bisque firing, and those finished and awaiting packaging.

Mom was renowned for the beautiful and original Pennsylvania Dutch folk designs she offered her customers. Since we lived only a short trip from a variety of Amish settlements, her focus was a natural one. She had also created original plaster molds for the teapots and coffeepots she sold, and since these were exclusive to The Gingerbread House, these designs brought in customers from the immediate region and beyond. The uniquely rich colors of the hand-mixed glazes added the finishing touches her customers craved. For many years, the business was successful but eventually, she closed its doors to return to teaching, anxious to not only insure the family a steadier income but wanting to pass her artistic passions along to the young people in the community. The wheel and kiln sat unused, but she continued practicing her talents through painting, fabric designs, scherenschnitte (papercutting), sketching, and bead work.

My mother died suddenly in June of 1984, never having taught me to throw pottery. She nurtured in me many other diverse arts, however: wood and soap carving, weaving, repoussage, decoupage, needlework, bead work, and calligraphy. She instilled in me the power and peace of creativity, but I admit, I often wondered why she had never shared her potter skills.

Today, after training in the pottery studios at the Toledo Museum of Art under the tutelage of Linda Ziemke, I think I know. Pottery creation was her private haven, a place she reserved for herself. It wasn't out of selfishness, but rather a need to have a place to retreat, relax, and recenter from the pace of motherhood, work, and life. I feel privileged to have been artistic throughout my life because of her role model, and now that I can indeed create pottery, am twice blessed to experience that same sense of centering and peace.