Delicate Transformation
December 2006
Most ceramic artists merely dream about being where Cliff Lee was three years ago. His pots were
winning major awards, selling for tens of thousands of dollars and in the permanent collections of several important museums, including the National Museum of American Art at the Smithsonian Institute. He had collectors all over the world. Then, at the height of his success, he suffered a stroke that left him partially paralyzed and unable to feed himself, let alone carve porcelain.
Lee, a former neurosurgeon, used the time off for rehabilitation and to design an elaborate 7,000-gallon koi pond between his house and studio. Now he spends less time in the studio and more with his family. When he feels his stress level rising, he goes out to the garden and gazes at the koi and lotus until serenity returns. “I want to make myself happy first,” he says. “If you can’t make yourself happy, you can’t make happy work.”
Yet his pots have become ever more intricate, and each year he gives himself a new set of challenges. “I realized life can just disappear,” Lee says. “I’m in a race with time, a race with myself. Whatever I’m doing, I want to do it to the best of my ability.”
Lee came to the U.S. from Taiwan at age 15, went to medical school, and was making a good living as a surgeon when, on a lark, he enrolled in a ceramics class at James Madison University (Harrisburg, Virginia) in 1976. There, he encountered the two loves of his life—studio pottery and his wife, jewelry designer Holly Lee. She supported his decision to leave medicine to pursue ceramics and continued to encourage him during the lean years that followed, as Lee struggled to perfect his techniques and establish a name for himself.
They moved to Amish country in central Pennsylvania when their sons were small and set up adjoining studios in the 200-year-old barn beside their house. There, Lee worked 14 hours a day, seven days a week. His big break came in 1990 when the Smithsonian Institute acquired his work. Three years later, his pottery was in the White House Collection of American Craft and Lee was earning serious money. A vase shaped like a peach on a pedestal can sell for $40,000.
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"Lotus with Flower," 2006, wheel-thrown porcelain. |
Lee, a former neurosurgeon, used the time off for rehabilitation and to design an elaborate 7,000-gallon koi pond between his house and studio. Now he spends less time in the studio and more with his family. When he feels his stress level rising, he goes out to the garden and gazes at the koi and lotus until serenity returns. “I want to make myself happy first,” he says. “If you can’t make yourself happy, you can’t make happy work.”
Yet his pots have become ever more intricate, and each year he gives himself a new set of challenges. “I realized life can just disappear,” Lee says. “I’m in a race with time, a race with myself. Whatever I’m doing, I want to do it to the best of my ability.”
Lee came to the U.S. from Taiwan at age 15, went to medical school, and was making a good living as a surgeon when, on a lark, he enrolled in a ceramics class at James Madison University (Harrisburg, Virginia) in 1976. There, he encountered the two loves of his life—studio pottery and his wife, jewelry designer Holly Lee. She supported his decision to leave medicine to pursue ceramics and continued to encourage him during the lean years that followed, as Lee struggled to perfect his techniques and establish a name for himself.
They moved to Amish country in central Pennsylvania when their sons were small and set up adjoining studios in the 200-year-old barn beside their house. There, Lee worked 14 hours a day, seven days a week. His big break came in 1990 when the Smithsonian Institute acquired his work. Three years later, his pottery was in the White House Collection of American Craft and Lee was earning serious money. A vase shaped like a peach on a pedestal can sell for $40,000.
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