My name is Osa Atoe (Ah-toy). Pottery by Osa grew out of my kitchen in New Orleans, Louisiana in 2015 and has since expanded to a full sized studio garage space at my current home in Sarasota, Florida. I took my first pottery class at the age of 34 after playing in various punk bands for about 15 years, touring all over the United States and Western Europe. Aside from playing music, I wrote a zine (turned book) about Black punks & outsider artists called "Shotgun Seamstress" and was a columnist for "Maximum Rock'n'Roll" magazine. I also booked shows for touring bands fronted by women, non-binary and LGBTQ people under the name No More Fiction. Many of the shows were fundraisers for local social justice organizations. With help from friends, I organized musical instrument & equipment skillshares culminating in a festival of first-time band performances to encourage participation of underrepresented genders and sexualities in the local punk scene.
Punk isn't about longevity or technique--it's about urgency and primal expression. Being in bands, making zines and organizing events helped me build the confidence to share my creative projects with others without worrying if they were good enough. But by the time I discovered clay, I was looking for a challenge. I wanted the chance to work on something for a sustained amount of time and become skilled, which is something that punk does not require. I also needed a fresh start.
One of my co-workers told me about a wheel throwing class he was taking at community studio in town. I decided to try it and was instantly hooked. After about a year, I moved to a different studio where I was able to trade my labor for class time and clay. That is where I learned to make glazes for the studio, load and unload kilns and other tasks that would help me build my own studio practice. A couple of years later, after moving to Baton Rouge, I completed a one year post-baccalaureate program for ceramics at Louisiana State University. Other than that, I have embarked on a journey of self-education, attending workshops at craft schools, seeking out mentors and engaging in independent research.
I use red stoneware clay, I carve as my main mode of surface decoration and I fire my work in an electric kiln. I work with red clay because it reminds me of ancient pots made of earthenware. I carve and stamp my surfaces for the same reason--these were the earliest modes of pottery decoration. It's fascinating to look at a pot made 2,000 years ago that still speaks to a modern sense of style and design. It tells us that there are certain forms, patterns, proportions and functions with nearly universal and lasting appeal. Additionally, the act of carving puts me in a flow state, calming me in an almost meditative way.
My approach to ceramics is that of a child of Nigerian immigrants living in a post-colonial and global reality. The United States is a multicultural nation and our daily lives are comprised of an amalgamation of various immigrant and indigenous influences. Furthermore, I can't erase the ways that British colonization interrupted the cultural identities and practices of my parents and grandparents. I want my pottery to reflect all of this, so I study work from disparate regions and eras, from the Ibo of Nigeria to ancient Cypress, from the Acoma and Pueblo to Ethiopia, as well as contemporary American studio pottery. However, at the end of the day, as it’s all translated through my hands, I've hopefully created a rich and widely accessible body of work that doesn’t look like anyone else’s but my own.
My pottery is people-centric. While I make, I envision the pieces in homes, rather than the context of a gallery, and I think of the needs they might fill. Morning coffee or tea, a birthday or wedding gift, an urn for a deceased loved one, a small jug of water on your nightstand that you reach for at 3 am when you wake up thirsty. I love to see photos of my pottery in people's homes and I try my best to keep in touch with people who have my work. It's been fulfilling to notice that the people who are intuitively drawn to my work are people with whom I share values; the pottery just helps us find each other. It is for that reason that themes of temporal and human universality are important to my work. The pots I make highlight our commonalities rather than our differences and in that way are symbols of idealism—a visual & tactile respite from the division, acrimony and injustice of the world.