Can You Make Functional Pottery From Utah Wild Clay?

This is the question that comes up almost every time I talk about digging clay locally.

“Can you actually make pots from it?”

The honest answer?

Sometimes.

Utah wild clay isn’t a single material. It’s dozens — maybe hundreds — of different deposits shaped by ancient lakes, mineral shifts, erosion, and time. Some are rich with iron. Some are sandy. Some are incredibly plastic. Some barely hold together.

Just because something feels like clay in your hand doesn’t mean it wants to become a functional pot.

I’ve tested small batches from around Cache Valley — drying them, slaking them down, sieving out debris, forming test tiles and small forms. The first few attempts were humbling.

One cracked clean in half while drying.
Another warped so badly in the kiln it looked twisted.
One melted faster than expected at cone 10.

That’s part of the process.

Functional pottery demands more from clay than sculpture does. A mug has to survive repeated heating and cooling. A bowl has to hold water without weeping. The clay body has to vitrify properly — meaning it becomes dense and glass-like enough to be durable.

Many Utah wild clay samples don’t reach that point on their own.

But that doesn’t mean they’re useless.

Some work beautifully when blended with a stable commercial clay body. A percentage of local wild clay can introduce subtle color shifts, speckling, or mineral variation without compromising structure. Some deposits perform better as slips. Others show promise in glaze tests.

The goal isn’t purity.

It’s understanding.

If I’m building Logan Utah pottery that reflects this place, I don’t need every piece to be 100% dug from the ground. But incorporating Utah wild clay — even partially — brings the landscape into the work in a literal way.

There’s something grounding about that.

The short answer is yes — you can make functional pottery from Utah wild clay.

But rarely straight from the shovel.

It takes testing. Blending. Adjusting. Failing. Paying attention.

And honestly, I’m still learning.

Some tests sit on my shelf as reminders of what didn’t work. Others hint at possibilities I haven’t fully explored yet.

That’s the part I’m drawn to — the conversation between the ground and the kiln.

It’s slower than ordering a bag of clay.

But it feels more rooted.

— Adam Corbridge
Still digging small buckets and firing smaller test tiles.
You can follow the experiments at adamcorbridgepottery.com