The Whistleworks by John Barry
Hand-crafted clay ocarinas in dozens of fanciful characters.
A Short History of a Whistlemaker
The first time I walked into the ceramics studio at college in the early 1960’s, I fell in love with the clay. A few years later I attended a show at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, of Pre-Columbian Central American art that included some riotously uninhibited, unabashedly animated pottery and whistles. I became enlivened by the soulfulness of this work as it corresponded to energies I was attempting to put into my own work.
Shortly thereafter, I discovered contemporary Mexican one-hole whistles, which were the size of walnuts and crafted into the shape of owls. Just barely fired and not very articulated, their spontaneity bespoke an engaging liveliness. Having never made a whistle before, I found this an opportunity to hold one in my hand and figure out how it worked. Straightaway I went home, grabbed a handful of clay into which I poked holes for hours, and eventually a whistling sound rewarded my ears. With jubilation I began devising ways to further pursue my new found ability. In the days that followed, I made clay animals and people that expressed what I hoped was my own spirit while at the same time honoring that inexpressible connection I felt to whistle makers far away and long ago.
My circumstances provided a facility in a small New Jersey chicken coop, not unlike that of a Central American potter. Clay came out of the ground via my shovel a few miles down the road, and the kiln was an optimistic construction of scavenged bricks that was fired with cast-off vacuum cleaner blowers.
Two years later there was a move to a much larger studio on a farm in western New York State. With the invaluable contributions of my wife’s artistry and considerable energy, new designs emerged and our business flourished there for twenty-five years. In April of 1999, we made another move to Carlsbad, New Mexico, with a new studio and renewed energy.
Today, as I reflect on what seems to be my life’s work, I find it rewarding that virtually everyone that I observe confronting the whistles finds something engaging with an innately playful, perhaps hidden part of themselves. This has allowed me an opportunity for much personal interplay with the world at large while at the same time affording me the chance for meditative and contemplative work with the clay that I love. To me, this is the best of both worlds.
-John Barry, Artist