Pots in Motion: Scott McClellan

This is the first of three posts about Scott McClellan, head of ceramics at the Seattle Artist League—his work, his approach, and the tone he sets in the studio.

Scott McClellan’s vessels seem caught mid-motion. They settle into themselves without ever going still. His forms press downward—weighty, bodily. Surfaces remain raw and exposed, with nothing hidden or polished away. Rather than smooth things out, McClellan invites presence. These pots don’t resolve; they hold. Even relaxed, they carry tension.

Weight in the Form

McClellan’s pots carry their weight low. His pottery often expands at the bottom, anchoring the form physically and visually into the table. Even a cup feels heavy—rooted.

“That makes it seem more guttural to me. That word—guttural—I like that word.”

There’s not always a carved base to lift the silhouette; the form continues straight into the table—heavier, settled, embedded.

Matched sets don’t repeat. Each pot is a variation, not a copy. Rims tilt, walls undulate, and shapes deviate slightly from expectation. Irregularity is an aesthetic choice—a form of attention.

“(I’m watching students learn to center and throw pots, and) their pot is wobbling—and I think, ‘That’s the perfect wobble. That’s the perfect asymmetry.’ And they hate it.”

Throwing with the same weight and to the same height, McClellan introduces variation through subtle shifts—a slight change in rib pressure, a quiet turn of the hand.

“You may weigh a set of cups to a certain amount of grams, but then the motion of throwing is irregular. It’s calculated—but it has to look like it’s not.”

Surface as Terrain

Surfaces are matte and layered. Glaze crawls, pits, and breaks to expose raw clay and grit. Many are wood-fired or emulate that texture. The result is a surface that behaves like terrain—scarred, geological, complex.

“The material is the quality of the earth. Rocks and grit and sand exposed. It’s not clean, polished clay—it’s craggy, earthy, raw.”

He sometimes adds sand, feldspar, even cat litter or chicken grit to push the clay body further.

“I used to make these sets of bowls that had pea gravel in the clay. When you got it thin enough, it would rip a hole at the rim. I couldn’t place it exactly—but I could get it to happen.”

Some pots carry McClellan’s signature calligraphic lines. These aren’t decorations—they’re gestures, records of movement and action.

“The irregular lines have geometry over a broader space, but they meander to get there.”

 He places them carefully in relation to the silhouette—thin, minimal, always in conversation with the form’s edge.

McClellan’s pots don’t aim for symmetry or smoothness. They refuse finish. What stays is structure—line, form, surface. Form becomes motion made solid.

This is the first of three articles exploring Scott McClellan’s work and process. Stay tuned for the next two—there’s more to say about philosophy, skateboarding, and noise trash.