On a day in 1935, ceramist Harold Horine and his mother, Maude, packed up their car in their hometown of Hollister, Missouri, and headed west. The road lay open before them, a black, sunbaked line cut into the landscape of the Dust Bowl. They traveled, not to sell Harold’s pottery, but to sell his process for making it. It is unknown who was driving, which is indicative of much of Harold’s career.
This piece featured the collection of Daniel Mathis (@notaminimalist)