Tags
Artist, Dragons, In Memoriam, Laughter, Memories, Pottery, Warren MacKenzie
Warren MacKENZIE… (1924-2018)
On New Year’s Eve, 2018, my father died.
He was an artist. A master with clay and wheel, glaze and fire. He was a teacher, a mentor, and, though he’d likely shrug it off, an inspiration to generations of potters. His pots are in homes and museums around the world, his life and lessons frozen in time on film and in print. Perhaps some of you are even reading this with a MacKenzie vase full of hopeful spring blooms on your table or a yunomi full of Earl Grey in your hands.
So it is that private loss becomes public, shared with all those who loved him and his work.
For weeks, I have been trying to put pen to paper, to find the right words to talk about him, to cut through the swirl of emotions, and I always seem to come up short. How can I possibly put him into words? Then, with my mind’s eye, I see him throw up his hands. “Get out of your head, Shawnee,” he says. “Memories, reflections. Just keep it simple.” Then he laughs.
Good advice, as always.
There are some individuals so comfortable in their own skin, the rest of us feel like pod people by comparison, struggling to fit in. My father was one of those people. I always marveled at how at ease he seemed, regardless of the situation. Whether in clay-covered T-shirt and jeans or the occasional suit – I even have a picture of him in a tuxedo! – it didn’t matter (though I’m sure he preferred the former). Whether showing a class of eager students how to center a ball of clay or dining with ambassadors and kings, he was always himself: passionate, generous, and curious about everything.
He was a natural teacher who thrived on the exchange of ideas, the opening of minds. Decades past, when – weather permitting – the yard would be covered with pot-laden tables for one of many quarterly sales, I remember how he held court under our maple tree, wrapping chosen treasures in old newspapers recycled from the neighbors. Perched in the branches overhead, I’d hear his laugh filtering up as he talked with old friends and new acquaintances, about form and function, or how a bowl fits in the hand and why texture is for the eye as well as the fingertips. Whether at the University, doing workshops, or sitting under the maple tree, what he taught was as much philosophy as technique, and, like his pots, it endures.
Growing up, he urged us to say YES to life whenever we could. To try new foods – no matter how strange – at least once. To read voraciously and listen to music, familiar and foreign. To embrace the aesthetic of the world wherever we found it, be it in the smile of a cat, the simplicity of a Han bowl, or the kitsch of pink flamingoes standing in the Minnesota snow. To look at everything with a sense of wonder and trust the world – even at its darkest – as much as we could. And to always vote Blue.
Though I could never convince him to get connected to the Internet, he always had a certain fondness for gadgets, especially tape recorders. I remember many an evening, after long-ago dinners with friends, when he’d bring out the reel-to-reel, and set it up on the table, recording conversations about pots and politics, love and literature, well into the night. I don’t know if he ever listened to the tapes after that, but, at the time, it was the recording that mattered.
He remembered well and told stories with flair, something I like to think I learned from him.
And he loved – and was loved in return by – two remarkable women: my mother, Alix,
and my step-mom, Nancy.
Before Joseph Campbell made it popular, he followed his bliss. Of all the things he wanted for us kids, I think that was top of the list: to find our own paths – even if by happenstance, as he did – and follow them with as much joy and passion as we can muster. To be true and happy in ourselves, and move through life with kindness, loyalty, and love.
A friend of mine remarked how strange it is to be an orphan in one’s 60s. And she’s right. After being independent for years, suddenly we want nothing so much as to be little kids again, to feel safe in arms no longer here, in an infectious laugh now silent.
Tolkien wrote: “So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their endings.”
My father was a bold, creative, long-lived Dragon. The most remarkable Dragon I have ever known.
It’s his birthday, today. He would have been 95.
I miss his laugh.
*****
Shawn MacKENZIE said:
Reblogged this on Off the Rails – Track 451.
karenrsanderson said:
This is a lovely tribute to your Dad, Shawn. Thank you for sharing it with us. I too understand the feeling of being “orphaned.” Blessings to you, find comfort in the joy he gave to so many.
Shawn MacKENZIE said:
❤
togeika said:
Thank you Shawn. A nice piece to read on your Father’s birthday!
togeika said:
Thank you Shawn. A nice piece to read on your Father’s birthday!
I will share a link your thoughts on this day to the Fan page.
Shawn MacKENZIE said:
❤
Nancy Bealmear Adams said:
Thank you for sharing on his birthday, Shawn. Wishing you peace in your memories. I am going to go throw a pot and let it become.
Shawn MacKENZIE said:
A wonderful idea, Nancy! ❤
baubo60 said:
Wow Shawn, what a touching tribute to your father! I remember reading about him and your mother Alix in the past and their creative connection and fabulous work. Welcome to the orphan club! I admire your style of writing and honoring a man who made a beautiful difference to life and left a legacy to last long into the future. Bless your heart Shawn. Love from Down Under. Margo x
Shawn MacKENZIE said:
Margo, so wonderful to hear from you. And thank you….<3
Chris said:
…and even dragons have their endings…. thank you for sharing your thoughts this day. I am blessed with a dearly beloved father in law who is 91 years young. This evening I will cherish our dinner with him even a little more, reflecting on unseen endings somewhere on the horizon.
Shawn MacKENZIE said:
I wish you both a wonderful evening, Chris.
Olga Godim said:
It is an honor to meet him through your post. Thank you.
Jeff Abney said:
A wonderful tribute to a wonderful man.Through his example, he inspired people not only to make better pots, but to be better people!
Shawn MacKENZIE said:
That he did. Thank you, Jeff.
Sabine said:
Dragons live forever! ❤ What a wonderful tribute to an amazing father, husband and artist. I am so very sorry for your loss and happy birthday to your Dad on the other side.
Leslie said:
Thank you for sharing this. We have sweet memories of visiting your dad’s shop years ago with kids, and their excitement over the $1 shelf. And to this day, we use some of his beautiful little plates for everyday, because we’d always heard that he believed pottery was to be used. How many glorious sandwiches we’ve had over the years on those plates, hosted in absentia by Mr. Warren Mackenzie. A blessing, and a gift. Peace to you and your family.
Shawn MacKENZIE said:
I remember the dollar shelf, well. A fun way to inspire a love of clay at an early age. 🙂 ❤
Sarah Dudgeon said:
So beautiful, in every way! I’m honored to have met him on several occasions and yes he is loved by many! So sorry for your loss.
Kathy Reed said:
I’m sorry to hear of your loss. I am very sympathetic to the feeling that you’re probably going through but at least he left you a legacy the legacy of his art creativity you’ll be able to look at it and spread the wealth to your friends and family put it on display so others can see the love as well as the Wonderful Life he probably lived and he probably gave you a lot of good life standards also so I say I hope you rest in peace it may you find a little comfort in these words
Jane Lurie said:
Thank you for sharing your wonderful tribute to your father. I enjoy his pieces in my home every day. He was an inspiration to many.
John Rohlfing said:
Beautifuly written, he was blessed with you as his child.
Marilyn Czech said:
Beautiful to have a father like your’s. A wonderful tribute to him by you, you were & are blessed. Sorry for your loss. Happy Birthday to him.
Ben Naga said:
You conjure the wonderful man he clearly was, And you in his turn have done – and made – him proud.
Shawn MacKENZIE said:
Thank you, Ben.
Ben Naga said:
I intend to write to you soon, but I am going away next week for a few days which won’t help of course. Still thinking about you both though. 🙂 Please pass on my fond wishes. Thank you for your patience with me.
Shawn MacKENZIE said:
I will, Ben. Take good care. Looking forward to hearing from you when you get back. ❤
Ben Naga said:
You have been having a tough time in recent months it seems. I do hope things look up for you in 2019. You will be in my thoughts.
Shawn MacKENZIE said:
As you are in mine, Ben. Take care.
Ben Naga said:
🙂 ❤
Keith Makepeace-Barber said:
Sorry for you and everyone that he passed away. Was he attending quaker meeting these last few years in Stillwater? My meeting in canada wants to extend condolences to his Friends and wonder if that was his home?
Shawn MacKENZIE said:
Thank you, Keith. I am not sure if he was attending Meeting these past few years. I live in Vermont, myself, but will ask my sister. She was living back at the pottery and would know.
Shawn MacKENZIE said:
Hi Keith, just spoke to my sister – Seems Warren hadn’t been attending Meeting for some time. Didn’t know there was a Meeting in Stillwater. Back in my day, we had to trek all the way into St Paul. 🙂 Good to know Friends are everywhere….
Keith barber said:
Your blogs are wonderful, a very creative mind well used. Yep Friends are thin on the ground but sometimes I get surprised where I find them. Have a lovely day, I will enjoy revisiting this site.
Shawn MacKENZIE said:
Keith, you are most welcome any time. Take care…