The Ellison Collection

Similarly, when he became interested in the ceramics of Charles Volkmar, he not only determined to write a book about him but also embraced many of the other barbotine decorators. The same occurred when he discovered Fulper Pottery, although he ultimately lost interest in that ware, whose predictable oeuvre, I think, was not that well-suited to Bob’s temperament. On the other hand, the ceramics of George Ohr proved to be a perfect match. Extravagant in their unorthodox colors and flamboyant shapes, they expressed a rebellious nature that appealed to Bob. His book on Ohr in 2006 and his 2020 exhibition, Shapes from Out of Nowhere (he really wanted the title to be “From Outta Nowhere”) were the manifestations of his deeply felt philosophy of artistic freedom as well as his sense of humor.

Ohr created his own personal mythology as the Mad Potter of Biloxi. His flowing beard and moustache, and his non-conventional artistic attire were only the exterior display of an interior mood. So too, Bob avoided the norms of a jacket-and-tie mentality, and when he did wear a tie, it was often one shaped like a fish. But it would be wrong to forget that Bob was also a very meticulous craftsman. The beautifully detailed furniture he fashioned, like the masterful photographs that he took of his collection, are the evidence of a man with carefully honed skills and focused goals.

When I first became aware of Bob in the late 1960s, he seemed a somewhat mysterious person. I saw him at fairs and antique shows, prowling from dealer to dealer, buying ceramics he packed into string bags that he carried over his shoulder. Although I had not seen his collection, I asked if he would consider lending to the Arts & Crafts show that I was co-curating at Princeton. He refused, explaining that his vases were too personal, and he didn’t want to be separated from them. The seeds of our friendship were planted in that conversation and blossomed over time as Bob became a more public person, open to those who were equally committed to the world of ceramics. He proved to be warm and outgoing, tough on the exterior but inwardly gentle and kind, welcoming passionate conversations—especially if you agreed with his point of view. 

His generous donations to The Met stemmed from his earnest desire to educate the public about the achievements of late nineteenth- and twentieth-century potters. The rich overflow of vases coming up now at auction will, in effect, do the same. Like soldiers marching out into the world to educate us about the beauty of modern pottery, they also act as monuments to Bob’s courage and wisdom as a collector.  

Dad was always on the hunt for pots and as I got a little older, we had more adventurous outings to the enormous Brimfield flea market. Up at dawn and armed with sandwiches and satchels, we would hit the market as early as possible so as not to miss the ‘good stuff.’ Dad's eagle eye would spot pots in the dark corners of the crowded booths. Every pot that caught his eye would be picked up, flipped over, and studied for a mark. The dealer would be interrogated at length and the haggling would begin. I was old enough to be able to wander a bit ahead or behind, searching for my own treasures as he closed the deal. Dad’s loft on Manhattan’s Lower East Side began to fill with pottery. Even the tiny nook that was my room when I visited him on school vacations housed some of his growing collection. To my delight, my shelves contained Fulper’s full repertoire of ballerinas, doll-like jars, and all sorts of brightly colored ceramic animals. 

In middle school, I joined him on a long summer trip to Paris. His interests had expanded to European ceramics, and he was focused on finding the most unusual glazes, forms, and textures, his artist's eye guiding him. In Paris, Dad also hunted for great cassoulet and couscous in little out-of-the-way restaurants. Although he didn't speak much French, he was persistent in trying to get his accent right for the words he did know. We went often to the Drouot auction house where he would bid for pots in his limited French and to the Marché aux Puces, where he had befriended many of the dealers. As with the first bunny plate, he would buy what he liked, then learn about it later. He was now an adept and diligent researcher, often digging deep for primary sources and tracking down distant relatives to interview, and I recall spending time at the Paris Archives Nationales with him while he researched his purchases. During this time, I had become adept at discerning between the French makers, like Ernest Chaplet and Auguste Delaherche, and to this day they are amongst my favorites. Many of the pieces he bought on this trip were donated to The Metropolitan Museum and were part of the show ‘Making Pottery Art: The Robert A. Ellison Jr. Collection of French Ceramics (ca. 1880-1910).’

Dad’s collection was becoming about more than just pots; it was now full of concepts and ideas. He was no longer just hunting for trophies but was using collecting as a means to understand and contextualize the art form. He bought ceramics from all periods and cultures, both ancient and modern. His collecting had become a tool for learning, and he was voracious about it. This was the period when Dad shifted his focus from making his own art to researching, photographing, and writing about ceramics. 

What started out in 2008 as a gift of a few dozen of his best trophies to the American wing of The Met grew to more than 300 pieces, as Dad saw an opportunity for the pots to “educate others the way they had educated” him. Even after the pieces for the donation had been identified, he acquired new pots for the gift to fill gaps in the epic story of American ceramics that he wanted to tell. Underdogs were placed beside superstars and the strict guidelines that The Met employed were stretched as this narrative could not be confined within pre-set dates. The modern and contemporary work that comprised his third and last gift and show at The Met, ‘Shapes from out of Nowhere,’ told another story of ceramics: the development of abstraction with George Ohr as the founding father. With this gift, show, and book, Dad’s long journey through ceramics history concluded on a modern note. Throughout his life as a collector, he had followed the dramatic history of glaze development, the movement of shared forms and influences across continents and centuries, and the origins of nonrepresentation and abstraction through the nature-inspired shapes of the fin-de-siècle, to Ohr’s individual and unheralded achievements, and, ultimately, to Peter Voulkos’s ‘demolition of symmetry.’ 

With the satisfaction that these stories were now told through his books and donations, Dad was actively trying to stop buying pots. But they kept calling to him. He and I developed a routine of reviewing the latest auction catalogue together over the phone. He would encourage me to buy certain pieces that caught his eye, typically something rare and under-appreciated, an underdog. Occasionally, I would oblige, bidding cowardly online, never having gained his skill or nerve at live auctions. An opportunity arose to organize his shelves and I, acting as ‘inventory manager,’ would pull each piece out and set it in front of him on his photo table. With his muscle memory sharp, he would pick it up, flip it over, look at the mark, and exclaim, “Ah yeah, I remember that.” His mind was stunningly encyclopedic, and I was in awe as he recalled all the details of the particular pot’s purchase and its place in the ceramics continuum. We pulled out charming Dedham crackleware, exciting Hugh Robertson glazes, and the old Fulper friends that had been stored away as his attention moved elsewhere. We even found a small pot with a 25-cent sticker on it, a relic of the early days of finding treasures in unusual spots. “Ah, yeah, I remember that one, a yard sale find.”

In selecting the pots for this sale, we wrestled with how to choose. Ultimately, it became clear that this sale was really a story of Dad’s collecting. His life’s work. From the earliest purchases of a naive beginner to the bold acquisitions of an expert, the mundane, the trendy, the trophies, the unheralded, and the underdogs, all were relevant to his vision of ceramics as an art form and all these pots tell the story of Dad.