KO-TSUBO?

Typically, ko-tsubo* by the visionary Tsukigata Nahiko are not merely a vessel; it is at some level an act of defiance against accepted tradition and the status-quo, all in, it is a compact self-contained universe of raw power showing off the potential of Oni-Shino. To understand the Oni-Shino variation is to appreciate a dramatic departure from the soft, snowy-white glazes of traditional Momoyama Shino where material, firing and concept has been stretched to the limit. Through what appears a bit like alchemy, lots of feldspar, iron, suitable clay, and the relentless fury and velocity of an anagama wood firing, Tsukigata pioneered his very own "devilish" aesthetic. It is a style defined by violent contrasts from bubbling feldspathic glazes, scorched earth, carbon entrapment, molten iron and heavy ash deposits that leave the clay encrusted, scarred, and completely untamed like the very concept itself.       

Looking at Tsukigata’s ubiquitous ko-tsubo I am meet with a question, how can a piece so small pot, intimate in nature and capable of resting in one’s palm command such an immense visual presence? Clearly this form is a triumph of scale over size as the pot possesses a monumental attitude, refusing to go quietly and demanding respect and attention of far larger pots. Look at the robust, even sturdy form where swelling belly tapers into a stout, heavily textured neck and a flared, uneven rim. This is not a delicate, passive container; it is an expansive force dictated to by visual spontaneity and a casual air. The sheer physical density of the shape, coupled with the dramatic tension of its profile, gives it the gravitas of an object tenfold (?) its size. It commands and occupies space with absolute authority, demanding our full, undivided attention.        

The visual and even tactile magic, however, lies in the intense, landscape of its surface painted with fire and ash where we are treated to a visceral interaction of feldspar and iron and the natural ash that changes the surface into some other-worldly and even alien visage. As you roam around the three-dimensional form, the narrative shifts, revealing intricate speckled networks of dark carbon and natural green ash vitrification, accented by warm blush-orange scorched marks on a rugged, craggy base punctuated by a myriad of gem-like ash jewels ever so slightly protruding from the surface.         

In a word, the marvel of this pot and Oni-Shino in general is unpredictability, showing off landscapes of near endless discovery and possibilities. The truth is that Tsukigata didn’t simply glaze a pot but rather he allowed the kiln's chaotic atmosphere to interact and write its signature on the clay and glaze, harnessing the intensity and irrefutable energy of the fire. In this tiny, gem of a pot, Tsukigata Nahiko has corralled a formidable, restless energy of potter and process, proving that the most profound ceramic statements need not be grand in scale, only fiercely genuine and grand in their execution.   

(* Back when I was first acquainted with the ko-tsubo of Tsukigata, I wondered was the nomenclature ambiguous or intentional with purpose and it became clear to me that this is not either/ or, small pot or tokkuri. While both forms are small, narrow-necked vessels that frequently cross paths in the world of traditional Japanese ceramics, the fundamental distinction between a ko-tsubo (small jar) and a tokkuri (sake flask) lies in their original intent, structural proportions, and general consideration of the mouth and lip.  The tokkuri is an explicitly functional vessel designed primarily for use in serving warm or room-temperature sake. As such, its anatomy prioritizes fluid dynamics: it typically features a tight, pinched, or gently flared lip designed specifically to guide a clean, controlled pour without dripping, balanced by an elongated neck and a body carefully considered to comfortable single-handed pouring. In direct contrast, a ko-tsubo translates literally to "small jar," originating historically as an all-purpose utility container used for preserving seeds, tea, oil, pigments, or medicinal herbs rather than serving liquids at the table. Because storage requires some manner of secure sealing, a ko-tsubo often features a broader, stouter mouth rim which is sometimes rolled, flat, or subtly collared—to facilitate tying down a cloth or paper cover with cord. Furthermore, while a tokkuri favors a balanced, fluid silhouette optimized for repeated handling and balance when filled with liquid, a ko-tsubo tends to exhibit a more grounded, bulbous posture with an usually obvious lower center of gravity and a shorter, thicker neck clearly not made to participate in the unfettered flow of liquid, reflecting its heritage as a static container meant to rest securely on a shelf or floor. Over centuries of tea culture and contemporary appreciation, many historical ko-tsubo have been recontextualized as flower vases albeit small ones or even makeshift sake decanters, yet their distinguishing mark remains this tension between the refined, pour-focused lip of the tokkuri and the utilitarian, formidable and sturdy mouth and stable body of the ko-tsubo at which, in my opinion, Tsukigata excelled at.)

CHANGE THE CURVES

    

                                                            

Measuring in at just under nine inches tall, this covered jar falls under the umbrella of jars I refer to as “wasp jars”. The basic thought is the wasp like stinger for a knob and the waisted form and expanded top of the piece. I started making these back in Cleveland during what may looking back now seem like the medieval ages and I am not quite sure where the idea actually came from except, I like pots that change the curves, going in and then out while resting on a smaller scaled foot. This one was thrown out of a white stoneware and has a base clear glaze, another glazed brushed over it and two additional glaze washes atomized seemingly random to create this surface. I decided to run this surface by a more sterile canvas without any paddling, carving, stamping or slip work to see that it was interesting enough to stand on its own one foot, I think it passes the test. Maybe next time around I can get it into the 14” range to see that the glazing is enough to carry the day.

ALTERNATIVE

I was scrambling around looking through photos trying to find something to post but after all these years and all the posts on my I, POTTER blog, Facebook and Instagram, it does get to be a bit of a challenge putting up something new every time. As I was searching through pictures, I came across this picture of the Tamaoki Yasuo Oni-Shino chawan and thought this was a good counterpoint to the first photo. Obviously in this picture, the chawan is shown off using an alternative lighting source, the sun and presents a slightly differing perspective of the pot. I have to admit, I am drawn to how the Shino glaze and the feldspar in particular looks like it is frozen ice or quartz formed over millions of years all the while being punctuated by iron spots and trails that create a landscape the is visually mesmerizing, well, at least in my opinion. One feature that is hard to miss is the highly reflective and metallic the iron that has made its way into the surface becomes a main player in this symphony of clay, material and fire. I was a bit reticent to putting up this additional or alternative view so soon but seeing it on my computer screen, I think it was the perfect choice.

CONTINUED GENEROSITY

Illustrated is a group of books that I was sent, they had been in the collection of my friend, Howard Waldman. His widow asked me if there were books that I wanted and I suggested that she box them up and just send them all my way, which she graciously did. The intent was to keep a few books for myself, I think three or four and then pass the rest on where they would be most appreciated. About four or five went to two collectors and the remainder to a pottery studio in Pennsylvania, all were sent gratis as I wanted to honor the continued generosity of Howard and his wife. I can tell you that I am extremely pleased with the books that I received, filling in some vital gaps in my library and hope the remaining group are leafed through until they are dog-eared while adding an unseen perspective to a new group of collectors and potters along the way. Thanks again H & N. 

ANOTHER LEFT OVER

Illustrated is a simple teacup, thrown along with five others to get to a set of five in total, this one being just another left over and likely destined for the shelf of mismatched and misfit pots. These were thrown out of a white stoneware and then glazed over in another combo or runny glazes which I am referring to as tsuru-yu (tendril glaze) as everything needs some nomenclature as a means of identification. Based on the same general concept as the Hongyo style running green surface, this one is obviously earthy and a bit more neutral in appearance and the cascades have a variety of simple, subtle coloration and details that make it a bit more than just a runny brown glaze. This set of cups was actually my first use of this surface for anything besides tests and though a test in its own way, this surface seems to being moving in the right direction and not just south. Though gravity and temperature have more of a hand in the creation of this surface, I would like to think I have had something to do with it until it ends up sticking to a shelf or firing plinth then I will know exactly who and what to throw under the bus. Several pieces are going into my next glaze fire though only a yunomi and a teabowl but even “big” ideas have to start small.

NOT THE BEER

Illustrated is a mystical and mythic beast, the kirin, made of clay and glazed over in an ash style, almost Ki-Seto like glaze which one can assume will not be confused with the beer brand. Captured in dramatic movement, this okimono is suspended in mid-leap, held up by a simple copper rod and a simple, plain block of wood. The animated movement and motion etched and modeled into the surface work in sympathy with each other, exactly as planned by a sculptor skilled in capturing and expressing dynamic tension, movement and expression in little more than a handful of clay. 

In Japanese ceramic sculpture, few mythological creatures grab our attention as much as the elusive and mysterious kirin, except the pantheon of Eastern dragon. A chimeric herald of peace, prosperity, and cosmic harmony, the kirin is traditionally depicted as a celestial, mythical chimera, an amalgam of spirited animals, a little bit dragon, a little bit stag draped in scales and flanked by animated flames looking a bit like the paint job on a ’57 Chevy. It is a creature so benevolent that its hooves tread softly enough to avoid crushing a single blade of grass, this particular and idiosyncratic rendering translates millennium of monumental mythology into ceramic form without succumbing to stiff, ceremonial formality which clearly requires a potter of exceptional sensibility.    

Enter Takaba Eizi. Known for his expressive and distinctly unique approach to sculpted ceramic figures (okimono), Takaba breathes a lively, human vitality and expressiveness into this traditional subject matter animating clay with an inner voice and deft touch. Rather than casting a static, immovable guardian, the clay is hand-modeled with a true sense of direct, tactile immediacy. His fingers, his tools and his sculpting all leave an indelible record of the making process, the soft, pinched ridges of the mane, the rhythmic tool marks defining the scaled flanks, and the carved, spiraling clouds swirling across the beast’s hindquarters all speak to the process of its creation.   

What makes this particular piece magnetic is its sheer, whimsical buoyancy, its posture and its presence reflecting well beyond its scale. Raised on its slender copper support and wood plinth, the creature seems less like a heavy clay object and more like a celestial being caught mid-flight, stretching its neck skyward with quiet joy and mythical exuberance. The surface treatment accentuates this sculptural playfulness where warm, earthy clay tones peak through a lightly applied, pale wash or slip, highlighting every carved groove and impressed scale to maximum and even dramatic effect. The contrast between deep, shadowed crevices and soft, matte highlights endows the creature with dynamic light and shadow.     

Takaba Eizi achieves a rare balance in his work, honoring the ancient iconographic dignity of the kirin while infusing it with a modern, intimate, joyful warmth. It stands as a masterwork of his hand-built ceramic art, a sculptural testament to how traditional myth can be revitalized, modernized through clay, touch, and imaginative spirit. 

A BRIDGE

My first impression when I encountered this yuteki temmoku mizusashi by Kimura Morikazu was that I was witnessing some form of time travel, a dialogue between ancient Song Dynasty perfection and the 20th-century Japanese ceramic sensibility at the very same instance. Kimura Morikazu dedicated a life to the pursuit of iron and as such was revered for his masterly command of a multitude of Chinese inspired high-fire glazes where he resurrected an array of iconic traditions born in the kilns of Fujian and recontextualizes it into a vital, functional focal point for the tea ceremony.       

Over centuries, the Chinese archetype for oil-spot (yuteki) Temmoku was defined by near formulaic and strict symmetry, aristocratic refining, and precise geometry, all materialized into the intimate proportions of the Song tea bowl (chawan). In the original Jian kilns, iron-saturated slip would boil during peak reduction firing, pushing trapped gas bubbles to the surface that dissolved into silvery, metallic iridescent spots upon cooling and the classic Chinese ideal valued this visual phenomenon as a celestial microcosm, a controlled miracle suspended within dark, dark depths punctuating form, surface and atmosphere.         

Where Morikazu and many Japanese potters departs from the imperial Chinese archetype, however, is in the rigidity and formula of scale, silhouette, and spirit. By borrowing an idiom and super-imposing its ideal transferring from the delicate bowl form onto a robust, Chinese influenced but decidedly Japanese mizusashi, Morikazu expands the canvas into a presence of volume and specificity to a Japanese ritual. The form of the vessel is defined by its expanse outward with honest, generous presence, allowing the dense matrix of metallic iridescence to punctuate across a sweeping, curved horizon like a clear night’s sky. The glaze here is not merely a surface decoration; it envelopes the pure form with thousands of shimmering, iridescent droplets like raindrop creating a symphony across a pool of dark water. 

This transformation of the simple form and noble surface reveals the distinctly Japanese ceramic sensibility. While Chinese classicism pursued pristine, effortless harmony, Japanese ceramic tradition elevates wabi, the tactile, living warmth of the hand and the spirit. Notice the subtle soft curvature of the vessel, the lip, and the accompanying ceramic lid topped with a simple, grounded finial. Rather than placing a lacquered wood lid atop the jar, Morikazu created a matching ceramic lid, acting to best unify the vessel into a singular, self-contained statement of high-fire iron glaze mastery.       

In the quiet intimacy of the tearoom or even on a shelf as an object of display and contemplation, this mizusashi does not demand theatrical attention, instead, it draws the eye into its shadowed depths, revealing subtle gradations of brown, rust, and silver as light shifts across its surface. This particular mizusashi and pots of this nature stand as a bridge between worlds, paying homage to the rigorous art and chemistry of ancient China while embracing wholeheartedly the often quiet, grounded spirit of Japanese studio ceramics.    

“The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters, is simplicity.”  Walt Whitman

LONG-STANDING

 

Illustrated is a simple paddled stoneware jar lounging in the mid-afternoon sunlight that I showed as greenware a week or so ago though I likely had made it a week or so early than that. I made this jar with three lids instead of a single one to try to give it several different looks and the option for the new owner to decide which lid they like the best for looks or use. I went with a partial Kuro-Oribe treatment where the upper portion is five glazes in total while the lower part is limited to two and yet, it still ran a small amount which cleaned up without any loss. I was lucky with this pot as it was still pinging from having just come out of the kiln before it was purchased and as of yesterday is now on its way cross-country to its new home. I am not sure if it will sound lazy or intentional but I really enjoy making smaller, manageable sized pieces. They can be held, admired, moved around with easy and in general can find some nook or cranny to fill with some degree of ease even in the home of a long-standing pottery collector. I guess at the end of the day, I make the scale of pot I most enjoy and love to collect for myself, say, mizusashi size or a bit bigger.

AT HOME

I had some spare time today after unloading a kiln, packing up pots to get shipped out tomorrow and plotting my next moves in the studio so I took a few minutes to chat with Bob. I asked Bob to take an existing picture, in this case of a purely divine kohiki bottle by Yoshimura Masaya and make it look a little more at home than in most of my more formal photos. After asking for some specifics, this photo is what I arrived at and honestly the atmosphere is perfect for this simple and elemental slipware bottle from the surrounds to the lightings, all based on my input but created with the magic of technology and this is where the mind, art and vision all come together and create a fuller sense of context without having to travel to Japan, stay at a ryokan and take photos of lots of pots. Though I am wary of AI in general, there are some uses that make life just a bit easier and certainly less expensive.

FINAL BRUSH

This chawan is a formidable and classic example of Oni-Shino as interpreted by Tamaoki Yasuo, though using the same descriptor, his style differs from Tsukigata Nahiko while pushing the boundaries of traditional Mino ware into a realm of intentional, rugged visual reimagining. To best understand this bowl, one must understand Tamaoki and his body of work, whose career has been defined by a deep technical mastery of the Gifu prefecture’s clay and a philosophical commitment to the untamed side of the Shino and Oribe tradition.  

Born in 1941 in Tajimi, the epicenter of Mino-yaki, Tamaoki Yasuo was designated an Important Intangible Cultural Property holder by Gifu Prefecture for his traditional Shino while pursuing more modern, even avante-garde interpretations of the idiom. Unlike many who aim for the milky, smooth glaze typical of classic Shino, Tamaoki sought a more aggressive and bolder surface to add to his repertoire of form and surfaces.  In this particular chawan, we see the hallmark of his technique: the use of mogusa clay, a soft, sandy local clay that is notoriously difficult to work but yields a unique, porous texture when fired shapes the thickish walls building the structure, the pliable canvas for his highly animated Oni-Shino. Through trial and error, Tamaoki developed this thick feldspathic glaze that and under its trial by fire, develops the creation of cells that wrap the surface in movement and a distinct, demanding visage. 

This particular presentation paints a rich, other-worldly landscape which gives off ant almost alien presence as deep iron moves across the surface rich in iron and contained within fine lines of feldspar and metallic netting. The dark, tectonic streaks suggest a violent geological process rather than perfectly executed plan, all the while paying homage to the ferocity and intensity of flame and temperature which become the potter’s final brush. This is the essence of his Oni-Shino: it is a beauty found in chaos and the unpredictable. 

Tamaoki’s work is a testament to the power of controlled imperfection, the profound with a spark of primal authenticity. In his process his intent is to give over once glazed and allow the kiln its own say, it is this collaboration that pushes the work and surface as far as it must. This chawan stands as a testament to that promethean struggle, his contribution to the Shino idiom is this refusal to be constrained by tradition as it was, as it is, representing a fierce departure from the serene, often conservative aesthetics often associated with Momoyama-period revivals. Through decades of testing, experimenting and maintaining a focused dedication, craft breaks the boundary from craft to art, ensuring that each chawan is its own singular record of a violent, transformative event, though connected, unique and singular in each encounter, a narrative that is hard to forget.