Pottery runs deep in Santa Fe, from hallowed Pueblo collections to clay-throwing pubs.
Breathe, said my instructor, Heidi Loewen, as I eased off the pedal.
She was right: I needed to catch my breath.
From left: An etched pot at the Rosewood Inn of the Anasazi; a plate by an Acoma Pueblo potter in a guest room at the hotel.Credit:Mary Robnett
Its safe to say I have a pottery problem.
After all, clay is found nearly everywhere on earth and so, therefore, is pottery.
But few places have as rich a ceramics culture asSanta Fe.
From left: The Zuni collection at the Indian Arts Research Center; a mosaic-lined bathroom at the Inn of the Five Graces.Mary Robnett
Even the citys traditional adobe homes, it could be argued, are essentially inhabitable pottery.
With more than 250 galleries to choose from, I had to be strategic.
I was struck by the sheer variety and quality of the pieces.
From left: At Tumbleroot Pottery Pub, drinks are served in handmade ceramic vessels; works for sale at Tumbleroot Pottery Pub.Mary Robnett
I was ready to buy it, but I wanted to explore more before committing so soon.
Next we strolled along Canyon Road, a half-mile-long stretch lined with about 80 galleries.
There was more pottery to behold: vases atop our mantle, and bowls on the library shelves.
The dining-room walls are covered with vintage geometric tiles made by the now-defunct Malibu Potteries.
As he pinched the layers, it morphed into a pot with a wide base.
Curvaceous and smooth, his creations have a subtle shimmer from the melted mica.
I wanted to take home a bean pot, but opted for a carry-on-friendly plate.
They view these pots as living, he said.
For two hours, I had the master ceramist all to myself.
I joined my family atTumbleroot Pottery Pub, a bar with potters wheels.
Whats my favorite thing in the world?
Its the kind of place I wish every city had.
We ordered cherry limeades (which were served in glazed tumblers) and slabs of sculpting clay.
The bathrooms had intricate, hand-laid mosaic murals.
I felt like I was staying in a royal palace in the desert.
I surveyed my souvenirs.
Of the five pieces I had purchased, one stood out.
It was from theRailyard Artisan Market, which is held every Sunday in a converted warehouse.
I wrapped it gently and placed it in my suitcase.
Now a piece of his family lives with mine, forever linked through pottery.
