CHAPEL HILL - Ronan Peterson's melodious Southern accent isn't the only thing left over from his youth. Bits of the artist's childhood in a small community in the mountains of Western North Carolina can be found in his pottery too.

Peterson grew up in the Poplar community in Mitchell County, on family land. "There are a lot of Petersons there," he said. "It's a whole clan." (His name, pronounced RON-an, is a combination of Robert and Susan, his parents' names.)

He sketched and drew from an early age, mostly cartoon figures inspired from his father's vast comic book collection. Peterson, 33, also noticed his surroundings outside, like trees, rocks, lichen and bugs.

"I have distinct memories of insects growing up," he said.

Those qualities, both obvious and subtle, show up in Peterson's pottery. His clay is dense and colorful, with designs that are low-to-the-ground and sometimes loose and exaggerated, even cartoonlike. His is work you want to bite off and chew on instead of gingerly hold in your hands.

Priceless past: Instead of running away from his Appalachian roots, Peterson was drawn to them. In college, at UNC-Chapel Hill, he studied anthropology and folklore, especially of the Southern variety. He also spent a few months at the American Folklife Center at the Library of Congress in Washington, where he worked on cataloging the North Carolina collection.

Like home: In Washington, Peterson learned about the John C. Campbell Folk School in a different part of the North Carolina mountains from where he'd grown up. He worked there for six months in exchange for free courses. "It was like home, very rural, and all these people would come from all over to take classes. I really liked it. A lot of the students tended to be older and I enjoyed being around them. That's where I started taking clay classes."

Trio of teachers: It's in large part thanks to the generosity of other potters that Peterson is one himself, he said. His first teacher, at Campbell, was Mary Dashiell of Meadows of Dan, Va., from whom he learned to make an earthenware animal whistle. "It looked very elementary, but immediately I had all these colors on it and built-up layers. That probably came from her approach, but my way of working was already developing too." Before leaving Campbell, Peterson learned that noted potter David Voorhees in Flat Rock was looking for an assistant. "He needed somebody to help with production, but I was so far behind him that it didn't work out that way. But still I learned a lot about not just the art, but the business side." He took another two-year assistant job with Steven Forbes-deSoule of Weaverville, who specializes in raku. "All the glazing I do definitely comes from him." From there, Peterson spent several years at Penland School of Crafts, first as a student and then working in the gallery.

Rich in design: Some of Peterson's pottery is made with a wheel and some he hand-builds from slabs of clay using molds. He uses red clay and adds a contrasting slip, a covering made from water and clay, or layer of color, which he then carves back through in the sgraffito style. In that technique, meaning "to scratch," a top layer of color is scratched to reveal another layer of color beneath. Often, he'll add designs and textures over the entire piece, and might use five to eight glazes on top of that. "Glazing is a huge ordeal because I use so many colors," Peterson said. "The whole thing is very labor intensive."

Lowering the volume: Recently Peterson has been trying to streamline some of his designs. "I'm trying to simplify my forms a bit," he said. "I'm starting to allow more quiet spaces." But, sometimes, he said, "I just need to get the pieces out the door." Now more than ever Peterson has to look at his work as not only art, but as a business. His wife, Kara Ikenberry, a metal artist (the two met at Penland), stopped working to take care of their son, Nolan, who is 6 months old. Nolan was born prematurely and was hospitalized for several months, so finances have been particularly tight.

Now, about those toes: The name Nine Toes Pottery prompts the question. Yes, he really is missing part of a toe. "It's the middle toe on my right foot," Peterson said. "It was from a lawn mower." Although you wouldn't figure it out on your own, the stamp Peterson uses to mark his work is a little shrine to the missing digit.

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