Dave the Slave, Poet Potter

Huge hands extracted heavy red clay lumps gleaned from Edgefield's argil soil, placing it upon the whirling wheel. Fingers roughened, he formed, shaped, with master skill vessels fit -- massive stoneware pieces, usable, rare. Sinuous liquid clay upon black hands like tortured blood from harsh slave-beating wounds, dripping down dark skin, branded, cursed, damned. Unique old man, Dave, a slave, literate -- in times dangerous for his kind to read, he proudly displayed more than maker's mark. In poems, quaint, with shapely script, his creed was carved upon the pots' serene shoulders, then boldly signed with his own name. Yes, "Dave" was inscribed for the eyes of all beholders. Forty years he worked for his white owners, longing, like all enslaved, for freedom, dear. He lived to see emancipation's dream -- perhaps never knew an accolade sincere. Six foot under, unmarked, no one knows where old Dave the slave lies buried. Sure enough, his perfect pots are still discovered: both he and they were diamonds in the rough. © Faye Lanham Gibson, June 14, 2014 Dave the slave lived near Edgefield, South Carolina, and crafted some of the largest pottery pieces known. He was literate and signed many of his pieces with his own name and also included on some his own short poems. His pieces when sold command very high prices.