By Peggy Sturdivant

Dear Regnor,

I know your own shortest day is coming all too soon. Whether or not it will come before what would have been your 45th winter solstice party in Ballard is unknown. Whatever happens, whenever it happens, there will always be the solstice events just as you made them, with a keg of beer, jazz playing, potluck tables of good food and lots and lots of people.

I wasn’t there for the earliest solstice days, when you channeled the Norwegian in you and threw open your hot kiln on the shortest day. The ceramics still transparent in the heat, sold before they could be fully cooled and put on display. For almost four decades your studio on the west side of 32nd NW was a window on the heart and soul of Sunset Hill. In the summer, with Lily and the People, there was the Raku firing, and even more neighbors, friends, students dating back to the early 70’s all flowing through the longest day.

Your students are all over the world, but if there is one teacher they have never forgotten it is Regnor Reinholdsten. When he moved to Ballard in 2008, my husband, Sammamish H.S. Class of ’73 recognized you from his past. The art teacher with one name: Regnor. Your students were at Kirkland Art School, Olympic College, Northwest Crafts Center, off the street…your work and the work of all your students is everywhere, homes, collections, retrospectives. I just saw one of your glazed bowls listed on eBay.

I told photographer Tod Gangler at his The Color of Time: Ballard from Dusk to Dawn exhibit that you are as iconic as any of his images. Sure there’s the Mike’s Chili sign and railroad bascule bridge, but for me vanishing Ballard is your station wagon Volvo. I’ll see it out of the corner of my eye, crossing paths on Leary, your profile with hat barely above the steering wheel, always a dog in the car, and think, “Regnor!” On warmer days it’s you in the red Triumph convertible.

Your face was made to be photographed: those blues eyes above the red vest in winter and the increasingly white beard. I’m surprised Frederick & Nelson never hired you as an elf, or perhaps they did.

Of your life as a whole, I know so little. Sailor, fisherman, Norwegian, artist, master potter, friend, husband, father, friend, grandfather, lover of jazz, dogs, and especially Mingus. For years I was too much in awe to speak to you. I was surprised that you knew who I was for years…even as Emily’s mom. But when our friend Carrie Gustafson died last June you came to our house to make sure that we heard it from someone else who loved her. Thank you for that.

I’ve heard that Christmas has been celebrated in your family home in Ballard for 75 continuous years. I’m sure that will continue. Oddvar will keep your Volvo running. Your hand-thrown mug will stay at The Scoop at Walters. Brother Gordy and all of your family and friends will make sure the solstice parties continue, like the one last year at the Elks at Shilshole. There will be beer and food, children dancing and pottery on the tables. “We’ve got to keep doing this,” is what you’ve been telling people. It’s a promise.

I didn’t have a chance to tell you but I hope to work with others to fulfill the dream of a park in the former City Light substation behind your old studio. There should be a place to honor a time and place that included so many artists like you on Sunset Hill, and those now at Salty Dog, Port Townsend, New York, Japan. Artists who credit you first as friend, then mentor.

I wish you could have stayed with us longer, but teachers and true friends are never, never forgotten. Especially when they drive a bright red Triumph convertible. Dear Regnor and Family. Happy Solstice.

Always,
Peggy