Emmanuel Cooper made pots with volcanic, cratered surfaces and bright, singing colours that came as a surprise from someone schooled in the tradition of domestic, brown earthenware. I first met him early in his career, in 1969. He was living in a basement flat in London's Westbourne Grove, as yet ungentrified. He was a kind of urban simple-lifer, floating around clad in an exotic North African djellabah, cradling a cat and serving scented tea in one of his own oatmeal-coloured teapots. But the hippy appearance was deceptive. Adjoining the flat was a small pottery studio, where, with the aid of an assistant, he made hand-thrown tableware in quantities large enough to supply London restaurants: the Hard Rock Café was one of his customers. By the end of his life, through a formidable capacity for hard work, he had transformed his own practice, and had also become much more than a potter: a writer, educator and a tireless advocate for ceramic art.