KleinReid, a ceramics studio, was founded in 1993 by James Klein and David Reid when they had, in David’s words, “some energy—and a lot of naiveté”. Their work is known for its elegance and a deceptive simplicity, so hard, as any designer or artist will tell you, to achieve. An order from Bergdorf Goodman was their first break and since then they’ve sold work to celebrities and presidents. However, you might well have a piece yourself—it’s quite affordable. Over the years they realized that making things merely because they thought they would sell was the wrong approach. Said David, whom we interviewed in their Jackson Heights apartment, “When we pretend we’re back in graduate school and just making for ourselves, that’s what keeps the work honest. It keeps it intriguing for us and keeps us searching.”
On your website you say you’re “far from eloquent” – we’re hoping we’re going to prove you wrong.
I hope so. I have my moments.
Your husband (James Klein) is very good at writing. He says plenty. Does he make up for you?
Er … he makes up for me in a lot of ways.
And you’ve been together since high school.
Yeah. We were friends for about a year and then we started dating.
We both love ceramics and I have this fantasy that in my 60s, I’ll take it up. And, it seems, a lot of other people have the same fantasy. Why do you think that is?
It’s funny because it seems like there’s been this real burst of it recently. Like in the past couple of years I keep hearing people saying, “Oh yeah, I’ve been taking classes”. I think the material is accessible. There’s a real immediate tactility. You’re in it and you’re covered in it. You know, painting can be the same way because there’s an unctuousness—you get really involved with the material.
Do you think people look at a bowl or a vase and say, “I can make that,” whereas when they look at a painting, they don’t necessarily think that?
Maybe. People see that magic. Anytime you see somebody throw a pot, it’s like, yeah, you just sit down and it happens. But it takes years and years [to learn]. You’re like a human lathe when you’re making something on the wheel. James always says that clay is a very willing collaborator in that it’s very forceful. It’s not like paint – that you put it there and it stays there.
You mean it has a mind of its own?
Yeah. It shrinks; it cracks when it’s fired. It accepts a glaze or it doesn’t want to accept a glaze. They’ll say a clay is “short”, which means it doesn’t want to move or stretch as much as another clay. It’s like having a pet—you have to work with it.
How many different types of clay are there?
There are many. I was always told to think of a mountain and a river running down the mountain. The river picks up impurities as it runs down the mountain—so at the top you have the purest like porcelain and then with stoneware, it has more impurities and you lose that white, glassy color but it’s more durable. So a lot of tiles are made out of stoneware because of that.
Actually, now that we’re talking about clay, I don’t think I know what it is!
It’s fancy dirt.
Every now and then I read books about Japan and one of the things that interests me is their ceramic culture—there’s an almost religious devotion to the process of making ceramics. It’s shifted from a craft to a kind of philosophy. Do you ever experience any kind of “religious” feeling when you throw a pot?
I experience it when I look at things, when something just kind of hits you and is transcendent, the way it speaks to you. There are some pieces at the Met that really do that for me.
Did you like ceramics right from when you were a kid? Were you the star in your class when you had to do a ceramics project?
I wasn’t like a prodigy, no. But one time I had modeling clay and I thought I could throw a pot on my parents’ turntable.
So there you go! It was there all along. There must be, I don’t know, ten potters in the entire country who can make a living out of it, right?
I think it depends on where you live. [laughs] I always say, “This would be so much easier if we were in a little town somewhere.” But, yeah, we’re really fortunate.
So you really both believed that you could make your living doing this?
Yeah! Isn’t that idiotic?!
How did you make that happen?
Um … we had some energy—and a lot of naiveté. We were very young. James taught ceramics and worked as a decorative painter. I worked at a gallery in Soho—that was in 1993. So it was late nights and weekends when we would work in the studio. Then we got our first big order through Bergdorf Goodman.
How? Did you walk in with a big cardboard box full of vases?
So like, we would make pieces, photograph the work, get dupes made and then put together packets and mail them out. And then wait.
How did you know what would sell and how to price things?
It was like, “What feels fair?” We had this idea that we will have this collection that would sell and then that would give us the time to do our own work. We never have time to do our own work.
Why aren’t the collections your own work?
The thing was, after about eight months of working, we realized this could be our work. There was a piece that we made that somehow embodied … well it wasn’t for the production line … it was just the idea that “this is a good vase”. And then the idea that everything we put into our art could be put into our production line. That’s when all the boundaries [dissolved].
What was the vase like?
It was this weird funny-four-footed round bud vase. We realized we didn’t need these hierarchies—the work would be better the more honest it is. It became less about what we were thinking we should be making or what would sell. Anytime we’ve tried to make something that we think will sell, it usually fails. When we pretend we’re back in graduate school and just making for ourselves, that’s what keeps the work honest. It keeps it intriguing for us and keeps us searching.
You worked with Eva Zeisel—and you collect her work. What drew you to her and her work?
She speaks incredibly honestly through her work. You can see a vase and know that’s it’s one of hers the same way you can see her signature and know that it’s her signature. It might be mass-produced but [a piece] will still have that intimacy from what she was doing at the time she started working on the piece.
So what did the presidents buy? I read that the last two presidents each have pieces of your work.
Oh, the Hungarian ambassador gave George and Laura an “Eva” stack [vase] and then Michelle has bought our work. I don’t know what she bought but we had a store tell us that she had come in and bought some things.
Well that’s a feather in your cap!
I know! Hey, I love Michelle!
