Overview:
Michael Schwegmann talks about how he became a creative and more ahead of his appearance at the 205 Cherry Creek Arts Festival.
Michael Schwegmann doesn’t just make ceramic sculptures—he transforms the everyday into something iconic. His work, often modeled after utilitarian objects like paint cans, rotary phones or wrenches, invites viewers to pause, reconsider and find meaning in the familiar. Schwegmann’s blend of technical mastery and conceptual clarity has earned him national acclaim and a spot at some of the country’s top juried art festivals.
The artist’s journey began in college, where a fascination with the potter’s wheel eventually expanded into a multidisciplinary practice rooted in both craftsmanship and inquiry. Raised by creative, problem-solving parents, Schwegmann sees a deep connection between the ingenuity of working-class households and the kind of creative discipline required to make lasting art.
While some artists chase novelty, Schwegmann digs into meaning. His sculptures often elevate overlooked or discarded objects, not just to surprise the viewer but to ask questions. What is valuable? What deserves permanence? What does this object say about the people who use it? Behind each piece is a careful process of selection, modeling and thoughtful execution.
Ahead of his appearance at the 2025 Cherry Creek Arts Festival, we caught up with Schwegmann for this week’s 5 Questions to talk about where his ideas come from, how he built a decades-long career and why some of the best insight into his work comes not from a studio critique but from a casual conversation in a festival booth.
Can you tell us about your journey in art and when you knew it was your calling?
I began thinking of art as a career when I was in college. I focused initially on ceramics my first two years of college, then worked for a potter for about a year, and then had my own studio a year later. I switched schools and there learned how to draw, paint, do metalwork, etc. I worked through college selling my artwork for a living and have continued making and selling ceramics through to the present.
I can’t say there was a moment I realized I was going to do it for a living. I started doing the work and made enough money to pay for what I wanted. Self-employment makes it hard to ever work for someone else again.
Who were your inspirations while you were finding your way?
My dad was a carpenter by trade, and both parents were creative people. This creativity presented less often as art-making and more often as how 1970s-80s working-class people solved problems with ingenuity and little money. Fixing things instead of buying new, sewing/mending clothes. We built mountain playsets for our plastic army men out of plaster, screen and wood. We made time to watch craftsmen at work: concrete guys putting in curbs, brick masons stacking a wall.
The first thing that drew me to ceramics was working on the potter’s wheel. Anyone watching for the first time (or hundredth time, perhaps) a master potter work on the wheel may believe in magic. I wanted to have that mastery. After I did have that mastery, I remembered that as a kid, my family would go to this pioneer theme park in Missouri, and I would for hours watch the potters there make simple pots on the wheel. This was a formative experience that I had mostly forgotten for years.
College surrounded me with a million ideas and thoughts about art and making. Both professors and students contributed greatly to my development. Working endless hours into the night with others on passion projects is one of the great human experiences.
As far as inspirations from other artists, an incomplete list: Surrealism (Duchamp, Magritte), Pop (Warhol, Johns, Oldenburg), Abstract Expressionism (Rothko, Kline), Street Art (Banksy, Invader), ceramic artists (Voulkos, Notkin). Whatever the profession, so many people before have solved a lot of the problems, so I think it’s imperative to consider their contributions and build off those.
Was it always easy for you, or was it frustrating mastering your craft?
Something I hear often, “I wish I had the talent to be an artist.” No one is born an artist. If I said, “I could be a doctor if I had a little more free time,” people would rightly think I was severely misunderstanding what it takes to have a career in medicine. It all takes hard work.
A career in ceramics takes building skills like throwing, mold making, painting, learning some chemistry (glazes and firing), learning to maintain equipment, having good ideas and then all the other stuff it takes to run any business, time management, sales, organization, etc. Add to all this the general pushback our society can have about the value of being an artist or making it a career.
But honestly, the above wasn’t a great problem for me. I had a good foundation for working with my hands and problem-solving. Making art or anything can be challenging, but I never got frustrated with that part. I want to make things; I like to do it.
I had a professor during a critique once tell me that “This work reeks of confidence.” For me, the challenge was ideas. I can make a well-crafted and pretty ceramic vase, and that can be enough, because every table can use a nice vase. But I want to make it more difficult for myself. How do I articulate a story that the audience cares about? How do I change the world? Art should be a dialogue or a question that asks the audience to reconsider themselves and their place in the world.
How do you get your ideas and inspiration, and then execute these works?
I like solving physical problems and fixing broken things. I also enjoy the process of taking a material and creating something new. I appreciate mastery of all kinds and strive for that in my own skill set. Good craftsmanship is a signal of respect for self and others. I value the processes of manipulating clay with my hands and, generally, the meditative, reflective time of creating.
I pick objects that, for me, represent something iconic. How can I distill a complex idea like “labor,” “self-determination,” or “dad” into a single, simple object? I tend to select items that are common and may not be considered to have value beyond their functions. For example, a paint can is a throwaway vessel, but the ceramic paint cans I make are strangely beautiful. Or a steel wrench is valued for its ability to tighten/loosen a bolt, but a fragile ceramic wrench loses this function. So, its value instead may be its iconic representation of a profession, or it may remind us of working on a project with a loved one.
When I am making a piece, I get a model of the thing I am copying into clay. When I wanted to make a ceramic rotary phone with a handset, I had to go to some antique stores to find some old phones to use as references. I may think I know what an object looks like from memory, but when I have to get the curves and transitions correct, I need to see an original to get it right. I will keep that original available while I sculpt a copy from clay. I usually make the sculpture a bit larger than the original item, so I use calipers and rulers to get the proportions close.
You meet a lot of people at art festivals around the country. What have you learned from your conversations across the United States, and what do you enjoy most about participating in local events like the Cherry Creek Arts Festival?
The best thing I think I have learned from talking to people is, “Why do I do what I do?” That is, sometimes my choices of reference objects for the sculptures I create are very intentional, and sometimes the choice just “feels right”; I know it’s important, but I can’t articulate it right at the moment.Â
So in showing the work, I have conversations that help me understand my own thoughts and help me to articulate a clearer understanding of why I choose certain objects and what is important to me. Engaging the audiences in their spaces and listening to their understandings of the work helps me evolve.
I have done (the Cherry Creek Arts Festival) for many years, and I found the people in Denver have a sophisticated appreciation for art. They are supportive in terms of engaging with the ideas and buying art. Cherry Creek is one of the top juried art festivals in the country.
It is very competitive to exhibit; I think they get over 2000 applications for about 250 spaces, so the caliber of artists is exceptional. I have collected many artist friends over the 30 years I have done juried art festivals, and this is also somewhat of a “homecoming” to see a lot of these people whom I have come to care about.