About Us
When my mom, Sally Silberberg, opened The Clay Pot in 1969, she was fresh out of college, with a baby in tow, and a bold idea: to turn a $150 Park Slope storefront — once a butcher shop, with its old block and black-and-white tile floor — into her ceramics studio. She set up a row of shelves in the front to sell her pots, an electric kiln in the back, and a playpen for me next to her wheel.
In 1973, my parents moved us to western Massachusetts and founded Mud Dauber Farm, named for the wasps who shared the barn with them — little potters themselves, building nests out of clay. They built a large brick kiln, made pots on a production scale with the help of a few live-in assistants, and The Clay Pot sold some of those pots (often “seconds”), while the best pieces were wholesaled to accounts across the country, including Neiman Marcus and the original Pottery Barn.
In 1980, my parents’ beloved studio was lost to a fire. With their own production gone, they shifted The Clay Pot’s focus by representing the work of other artists and expanding into jewelry, glass, and fine crafts. My mom always said that “adversity is the agent of change,” and The Clay Pot’s story has proved that true time and again. In the late ’80s, after the stock market crash once again threatened the business, my dad placed a small ad in the Village Voice for a wedding ring show. They gathered rings from artist friends, sold 20 that weekend, and planted the seed for what would become our most celebrated chapter: small studio designer jewelry.
Over the years, The Clay Pot became a Park Slope landmark — a place where neighbors gathered, artists were supported, and couples found their rings. People got engaged at the ring counter, we were robbed, the staff had love affairs, and thousands of mugs were received, unwrapped, priced, and sold — only to be wrapped again, taken home, and loved.
Though I grew up in Plainfield, Massachusetts, I was always connected to the store and its world of artists and designers. I started working there every Christmas when I was 13 — a rite of passage that turned into a lifelong education in craft, customers, and community. Later, I took the reins and helped guide The Clay Pot through its evolution into one of New York City’s most recognized jewelry destinations. That included opening a Manhattan location, where we introduced even more people to our community of designers and expanded beyond Brooklyn.
In 2019, after fifty years in Park Slope, I made the fateful decision to close the Brooklyn store. It was impossibly hard — one of the few choices I still second guess. People literally walked in crying when they heard. We set up what we called the feelings corner — a giant roll of paper where customers could share their Clay Pot stories. By the end it stretched over a hundred feet, filled with memories of wedding bands, first gifts, and neighborhood moments. Reading those stories was one of the most powerful experiences of my life. They reminded me that The Clay Pot was never just a store — it was part of people’s lives, and the impossible dream of two young creative dreamers and their starry-eyed daughter.
We carried that spirit into our Manhattan location, but when COVID hit, the reality was stark: unlike Park Slope, there was no neighborhood to rally around us, no community to keep us going. My husband Adam and I had bought a house in the Hudson Valley five years earlier, and on March 13, 2020, I was there getting high-speed internet installed before heading back to the city to cover for a staff member’s wedding. By Sunday, the store was shuttered.
I called my mom to ask what to do. She said, “Pack up all the jewelry and get it out of there.” So that’s what I did. I filled trugs and boxes, packed my Subaru to the roof, and drove north — not knowing how long I’d be running The Clay Pot remotely, only that I would find a way to keep it alive.
Life in the Hudson Valley opened new paths for me: I had a stint as a traveling diamond dealer, I got deeply involved in environmental and civic work, and I now hold elected office on the Gallatin Town Board. That broader life informs how I run The Clay Pot today — rooted in community, committed to sustainability, and dedicated to artists and craft.
Now we’ve entered a new chapter at 253 ½ Warren Street in Hudson, New York. Hudson has welcomed us with the kind of warmth and curiosity I remember from Park Slope in its earliest days — a place where artists, neighbors, and visitors all mix together. The new flagship store represents over 75 independent jewelry artists and designers from across the country. Whether you’re searching for a wedding band, an engagement ring, or a piece of jewelry to celebrate an everyday moment, we’re here to help you find something meaningful and lasting.
The Clay Pot has always been about reinvention — from a playpen beside a potter’s wheel, to a kiln in a barn, to a beloved Brooklyn shop, to the feelings corner and a Subaru packed with jewelry, to our new home in Hudson. Through it all, one thing has never changed: our belief in the value of handmade work, and the stories that jewelry can tell.
With love and gratitude,
Tara Silberberg