The other day, I drove to the end of a dirt road tucked into a secluded, treed niche along the Souhegan River.

The arches of an outdoor Noborigama kiln could just be glimpsed in the space safely carved out for it among the trees. I was meeting potter John Baymore, who lives in this spot, now called River Bend Pottery, where ancient sugar maples line the drive and tower over his house. When I commented on them, John showed me the cracks from age and climate change that signal their end of life. Our following conversation continued on this theme of change.

Much has been written about John as an award-winning, internationally recognized ceramic artist. Prior to 1996, John was a master kiln-maker and well-known ceramicist from a long line of potters who worked out of Trenton, N.J., in the early 1800s. Then, in 1995, he sent a pot to Japan in response to an international pottery contest. His interest in that contest was spurred by his knowledge of the history of pottery harkening back to Japanese traditions and techniques. Perhaps he wanted to see how well he understood these aesthetics by entering, but once his pot was out of sight, it was also out of mind.

He promptly went on with his teaching at the New Hampshire Institute of Art and continued studying Japanese history and the language that had intrigued him since he first took up pottery in college. Then, a telephone call changed his life. He was receiving a major award in the contest with travel to Mashiko, Japan, and all expenses paid by the Japanese government.

How big was this award? Some of the honored guests included the Emperor of Japan, the wife of then-U.S. Ambassador Walter Mondale (Joan), other U.S. government representatives and 60,000 Japanese citizens. More important were the two Japanese potters who juried the show. One was Hamada Shinsaku, and the other, Shimaoka Tatsuzo, is considered a Living National Treasure of Japan.

The award itself changed his life. It opened doors for John’s work throughout Japan, Korea and China, but this was augmented by the respect shown for his work by these and other renowned potters who, as John describes them, “are the rock stars of Japanese society.”

Besides his works being in collections in the United States and Europe, he now has his pottery in multiple museums in Japan, South Korea and China, as well as in the collections of many Japanese master potters themselves. He has also been invited to give symposiums and classes throughout Asia and Europe besides teaching throughout the United States on both kiln-making and ceramic arts.

The Fushigigama kiln that once was the treasure of the former Sharon Arts Center was designed by John.

There are sides to John that are relatively unknown. I had heard about his Japanese swordsmanship, something I didn’t quite understand. Yet, as we continued to speak, it all made sense when he explained the strong connection between warfare in Japanese history and culture and the reason why something as gentle and elegant as the tea ceremony is so important in Japan.

Centuries of civil war created a society longing for tranquility and a respite from violence while war continually raged in every corner of the Japanese world. The tea ceremony filled a niche, along with the ceramic tea bowls, that added functional, tactile and visual beauty to people’s lives. Creating these bowls became a high form of art, just as important as practicing the rituals of Samurai swordsmanship that could save a person’s life.

In fact, John discovered that to understand the artistic mind of the Japanese, it was equally important to understand the warrior mind, embodied in the use of the sword that he describes as “a lethal chess game.”

On a wall next to his tatami-matted tea room are four swords on display, while two practice swords rest on a stand under the windows near the tea table. He used these when he studied this form of martial arts at the Doshikai Dojo in Brookline. I say “studied” because age has brought change to this part of John’s life. He may be able to continue with some of the rituals embedded in this form of swordsmanship, but other parts of the ritual as well, as the heavy work of pottery-making, demands a more youthful body.

John added, “This realization wasn’t so bad. It led to another change that now fills my life, one that circles back to my early interest and experience with music and almost pushed ceramics away.”

When he was in high school, drumming became his passion. He was playing in jazz houses by the time he was 15. He played all through college as a rock drummer and then joined the band Clear Sky, whose first gig was opening for RCA recording artist Fat at UMass “in front of a couple of thousand people.”

This serendipitous scheduling gave the group the chance to grow beyond the Massachusetts music circuit into New England-based success. They were successful enough to support themselves and several others, but by the time a major record label wanted to sign them, John was burned out. Yet he admits “music almost derailed clay as my future.”

This isn’t where John’s relationship with change ends. He discovered the Playing for Change Foundation, which “uses music as a tool for education and social change around the world.” Discovering this group once again changed his life. He now describes himself as a late-career, multi-disciplined artist – still a potter, but also a totally online, studio musician who takes new technology and the internet to record tracks and make music across cultures.

John’s final comment was “I’m still learning and embrace change.”