On a Saturday in early September, the quiet block of G Street in Anchorage's South Addition neighborhood transforms. The sidewalk outside a sunlit storefront fills with the smell of pretzels and coffee, the sound of live bands and poetry, and the sight of hands — dozens of them — shaping clay on spinning wheels. This is Clay Fest, the annual celebration thrown by Turnagain Ceramics, and on September 12, 2026, it returns for its fourth edition, a free, block-party-style festival that has become one of the most anticipated days on Anchorage's arts calendar.
The premise is simple and joyful: celebrate the vibrant Anchorage clay community. Visitors can browse wares from potters and vendors from around the state, grab a bite to eat, listen to live bands, or roll up their sleeves and take a class. For the studio's founders, Evan Fried and Max Kubitz, the festival is the natural culmination of a project that began with a shared teenage discovery and grew into a mission to make Anchorage a hub for pottery.
Fried and Kubitz are lifelong Anchorage residents who first found their passion for clay in a local high school program. The two grew up in the area, went their separate ways, and eventually reconnected in California. It was there, far from home, that their shared love of ceramics rekindled — and with it, an idea. They decided to return to Alaska and take that love to the next level, building a space where the community could gather around clay. In May 2022, Turnagain Ceramics opened its doors at 1343 G Street, in the former Fire Island Bakery location, a beloved neighborhood landmark in the South Addition, one of Anchorage's oldest and most walkable districts.
The studio they created is more than a shop. It is a working ceramics hub, lit by natural light and buzzing with creativity, offering memberships, one-off classes, group events, and a supply store stocked with clay, glaze, and tools. The gallery features the work of more than thirty local artists and members, with a broad range of styles, types, and prices — mostly functional pieces like mugs, bowls, plates, and dishes meant for everyday use, alongside handcrafted animal sculptures and other decorative work. For visitors, the studio offers everything from quick one-hour classes — where beginners can craft a halibut-shaped spoon rest or paint a plate with northern lights or wildflowers — to two-hour sessions, six-week courses, and "Wheely Fun" open-wheel throwing sessions with no project and no agenda. It is, in the founders' words, an attempt to be the hub of all things pottery in the great state of Alaska.
Clay Fest grew out of that community-building impulse. The first festival took place in 2023, and it quickly established a formula that has proven irresistible: live demonstrations, hands-on pottery classes, a marketplace of work by artists from across the state, local food, and live music. The 2024 edition, held on September 7, was a full day of it, running from 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. Food came from a variety of local vendors, and the soundtrack was supplied by a mix of musicians and poets. The 2025 edition followed on September 6, and by the time the studio announced the 2026 date, the team was expressing heartfelt gratitude to the local clay artists and enthusiasts who had supported them over the past three years.
The 2026 Clay Fest, the fourth annual, is set for Saturday, September 12, and is free to attend. Organizers have promised a diverse selection of unique wares, delicious food, live bands, and classes, and they are actively recruiting artists, musicians, and food vendors from around the state. There is one note of caution in the studio's announcements: they warn attendees to be wary of accounts posing for vendor registration, and to only contact the studio through its official email address — a reminder that even a beloved local festival isn't immune to the online scams that plague event promotion.
For those who can't make it to the festival, the studio is open daily from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m., year-round, a short walk from downtown Anchorage. But there is something special about the festival day itself, when the studio's doors open wide and the whole neighborhood spills onto the sidewalk. It is a celebration not just of pottery, but of the people who make it — the artists, the teachers, the students, and the neighbors who have turned a former bakery into a gathering place. In a city known for its dramatic landscapes, Clay Fest is a reminder that community can be built from something as humble and enduring as a lump of clay, shaped by hand, fired in a kiln, and shared with everyone who stops by.
As the fourth annual festival approaches, the founders' original pitch — to take their love of ceramics to the next level — has clearly paid off. What began as two friends reconnecting over a shared passion has become a fixture of Anchorage's cultural calendar, a day when the city's clay community comes together to browse, eat, listen, and, above all, create.