HI-IRO

One of the most incredible features of yakishime (refering to the the natural and unglazed pottery of Shigaraki, Iga, Bizen, Echizen, Tamba and Tokoname as well as others) is when the surface appears caught in a moment of time. The ash or flame makes for a keshiki landscape of frozen motion. The drip of ash suspended in time or the hi-iro (fire color) showing the shadows of other pots and pads, these make these potteries visually alive.

When I think of hi-iro, my mind often wanders to the pot illustrated, a large tsubo by a member of one of the large Tamba families, Ichino Etsuo (市野 悦夫). It is thrown from a fine grained clay and the form is precise and noble and the hi-iro decoration shows the pathway of the flames as they licked this pot during the firing. It resembles the wispy pathways of a planetary storm of some alien world. The hi-iro is caused by volatizing fumes within the flame and they lay on accidental, incidental decoration of where the velocity of the fire caresses the pot. Though somewhat serendipitous, the potter must know his clay and kiln and how to fire the kiln for the pot to come out so lively. The beauty of yakishime pottery is the evidence of the flame that says something different to every pot and every viewer, a symphony in flame, burned onto the pot.

(Ichino Etsuo Tamba tsubo used with permission from a private collection)

TEXTURE

A friend recently asked me about my use of texture on my pots. The paddled and impressed texture in particular, but also the use of hakeme and thick kushime combed slip as well. At first I was unsure what they wanted me to say and wasn’t honestly sure how to respond.

After thinking about it for a moment, the answer was very obvious to me and in fact, right in the palm of my hand. I love texture, the tactile interaction between pot and person, I love the exceptionally tactile sense of a pot. This coupled with the historical antecedents where texture was some of pottery’s earliest “artistic” expression reinforced my use of texture

In the making, there is a variety of different textures you experience from wedging to throwing to handling a leatherhard pot. A bisque pot is unlike no other texture I can explain. The use of texture to decorate and articulate a form seems only natural since it is the pot in hand that interests me as much as the visual of the object.

The use of a variety of textures, as decoration, makes the tactile experience richer and the sensory input from various 3-dimensional surfaces allows for a nearly infinite interaction between each pot and it’s user.

VELLUM NERIAGE

I have been experimenting with colored glazes over neriage for a while. I have used clear, amber, medieval green, Oribe and my Ao glaze to date.

Recently I decided to use my Persian vellum glaze over the neriage. The first tests were a bit disappointing as the black porcelain in the neriage actually “burnt” the soft vellum blue glaze. The results looked excessively dry and pebbly where the black pattern was. With a few adjustments, I was able to get the vellum blue glaze to work quite well over the neriage clay.

This yunomi was in the first batch of tests and the glaze responded well to the clay and vice versa. I really like trying new stuff from existing clays and glazes. It is very much like trying to squeeze just a few more drops out of an orange!

ASH

Over the years I have used ash glazes with ash from a variety of sources. The composition of the ash, rarely mattered based on how I was using it. In recent years, that has changed quite a bit. The ash glaze I am primarily using can swing widely in appearance based on where the ash comes from.

My current, but dwindling ash supply is a blend of ash that I got from Bill Klock and my father-in-law. Bill’s ash was a mix of soft and hard woods from his tree farm. The ash from my father-in-law is composed of a myriad of things; soft, medium and hard wood, construction scrap, paper ash, charcoal ash, and other misc. sources. The blend of the two gives me a good glaze that is amber/aventurine speckled where thin and runny Karatsu style where thick. This glaze can be used in a variety of ways.

I am currently testing new batches of ash from my sister-in-law and an old neighbor. As suspected, the results are different than I have been used to, but given time, patience and constant testing, I should be able to come up with a blend that works right for me and my pottery.

The tall kushime cap jar was glazed in my temmoku glaze and my old haiyu ash glaze.

ENSO

KOKO ENJO (“Each thing is perfect”)

The enso is a prevelant image in the art of Zen Buddhism. It is used to express the complex nature of Zen and represents everything and nothing, completeness, brightness, empty yet overflowing. I have always thought of the enso as the physics formula equivalent of Zen Buddhism.

I find the enso a provocative image that can be “drawn” in an infinite variety and can be evoke a different response from each viewer. The image appeals to me as it visually represents the spinning wheel and the nothingness you start with a lump of clay. It reminds me of those moments of “moving Zen” when a truly great potter is throwing, without thought and consciousness, the pot just happens. For me, it is hard to separate the enso image and the chawan of the Momoyama and early Edo days. These are pots that appear to have just happened, made by unknown craftsman, without ego and intellectualism.

IN MUG MEMORIUM

One of the unique aspects of making pots is the ability to make a personal pot to my exact specs. For a mug, something large enough to carry a generous amount of coffee, pleasing to my eye and having a handle catering to a left handed potter. Knowing what I want out of a mug and being able to throw, tool, handle and glaze to that ideal is great.

Over the 20 years of making pots, I have made three coffee mugs for myself. The first and second, bit the dust over time, leading to my number three. It was a large and generous beast of lobed form with a good handle and decorated in a Shaner yellow glaze with an over glaze of black rain pattern. It suited me fine. Well, it was being hand washed when, four feet to the ground it fell and bounced off it’s lip all in what seemed like slow motion. I retrieved it and to my relief, no chips and no cracks. Given a rinse, it was put into the dish rack without another thought.

In less than a moments time though, the undeniable shrill moan of a pot cracking was everywhere. I picked up the mug and watched as the crack ran from lip down in a semi-circle around the handles base. It was done for. It had served me well for 8 years and in an instant it was gone. Gone, but not forgotten. I am using a temporary replacement, but I am in the midst of redesigning a new mug, one that will hopefully serve me as faithfully and honestly as the last without any moaning or groaning.

GLAZING

Over the years I have had the opportunity to watch a number of great potters glaze pots. In person, from Warren MacKenzie to Suzuki Goro and many more on video and dvd including; Shoji Hamada, Kawai Kanjiro, Arakawa Toyozo, Koie Ryoji, Michael Cardew and many more. What has surprises me most the variety of not only glazing styles, but more the actual approach to glazing. Some potters are just relaxed and casual regarding glazing, while others are meticulous, planned and organized. Some dread the process and glazing looks like a cyclone of dancing anxiety more than anything else.

I fall somewhere in between these approaches. I tend to throw a number of pots, knowing exactly how they will be glazed. This eliminates the planning part for 50 to 60% of the work. Now comes the anxiety part of the process, how best to glaze the pots to best actuate the form and purpose of the pot. Once that is resigned, the glazing process is a bit like the Tales Of The Water Margin character, the Black Whirlwind. Glazing up pots in their base coats happens rather quickly and without any hesitation, only stopped periodically to stir the glaze and clean my hands.

Now the anxiety sets in again. My base glaze is a bit on the particular side and the pots must be somewhere about 90% dry before the second glaze coating can be applied. If the base glaze is too wet, crawling occurs and if too dry, the second glaze can peel off in small paint chip size sheets. I have gotten good at timing this and lose very little to crawling; especially now adding calcined material to the glaze.

A kiln fire usually requires two days to get everything prepped, waxed, glazed, dried and cleaned. Then the real anxiety sets in; another day to fire the kiln and part of the next to cool and unload. Glazing is a necessary evil, usually goes off without any major problems, but I’d rather being throwing!

WHY POTS?

MUR MY ATH GAR NYNTJES EN OL BYS DHE BAR; "Thou noble pot, I love thee well. In all the world thee has no equal".

A Cornish inscription carved on a Michael Cardew jug from St. Ives, circa 1925.

BIDORO (1)

Bidoro is among my favorite types of green. Bidoro comes from the Portuguese word vitoro for glass that first appeared in Japan in the late 16th century. The areas of bidoro in Iga and Shigaraki wares sometimes forms large droplets of green glass known as “dragonfly eyes”, tombo(no)me.

This is an excellent example of the bidoro that is highly prized. This guinomi is by Iga potter, Kojima Kenji (b.1953) who is carrying on the demanding art of traditional Iga-yaki. Kojima-san has exhibited widely throughout Japan and his works quickly sell out at shows and exhibitions. I have been looking at his work for well over a decade and the true appeal of his pottery is his combination of traditional Iga pottery with the “now” of contemporary art. Kojima-san’s pieces are his own unique blend of old and new and his thoughtful attention to detail even on guinomi is wonderful. His mastery of his material and kiln are evident in his work.

The way the foot is cut, the guinomi appears to hover and begs to be used. It feels great in the hand and in it’s use. The solitary bidoro tombo(no)me just hangs off the form, frozen in time and defying gravity and logic. All in all a fine pot by a potter who adds to his art and is well worth looking for.

ALBEDO

I have been asked more than once how I came up with Albedo 3 Studio for a studio name and it is a bit round about, just like my way to clay. I first became aware of the term albedo in the late 70’s after being exposed to the musician Vangelis and his 1976 album; Albedo 0.39. For whatever reason, the spoken word piece Albedo 0.39 took hold and I became fascinated by the concept. The definition of the term albedo is “the fraction of light (from a source) reflected by a planet, body, moon, etc.”.

After leaving Cleveland State University, I set up a studio with a partner and when that ended poorly, set up my first independent studio in the mid-90s continuing to use the old studio name. Next came a series of moves to NH, CT, PA, VA and finally to central NY state. Somewhere along the way, I decided it was time for a clean break and I changed the studio name to Albedo 3 Studio.

The concept was simple and the question is, how much do I reflect the teaching, styles and concepts of those who taught me. I see myself as an incidental reflection of those individuals who helped me along my way when I started. Most gave without hesitation and with energy and insight, I now try to do the same. I have taught from time to time and hope that my students came away with as much as they could take. Maybe they will reflect those before me as well as what I have added to the mix. Potters are all like a blender, what you see and are taught goes in and comes out all mixed up into a new and distinct expression. Isn’t clay great!

(As a side note, Enceladus, a moon of Saturn, has the highest albedo in our solar system at 0.99 compared to the Earth, whose albedo is 0.39. Here is a link to a group of nasa photos of Enceladus; http://photojournal.jpl.nasa.gov/target/Enceladus )

Hump Day

I first became interested in “throwing off the hump” after watching a video showing Shoji Hamada throwing teabowls off what appeared to be a 10 to 12 pound hump of clay. This was years before I started making pots. While in Japan, I watched intently as Kohyama Yasuhisa threw chawan, tokkuri, yunomi and guinomi off the hump. That was my foundation for the technique. I was able to see several other Japanese potters throw in this way and despite a language barrier, I was able to pick up enough tips to allow me to figure out the process.

My first attempts yielded s-cracks and pots that just didn’t match in size, but over time, these hurdles were cleared. I began to throw all of my test pieces and v-bowls, teabowls and misc. pieces under about 3lbs. each this way. The key to throwing this way is the compression of the clay. Because of the forms I throw, the compression occurs in two places, on the inside, compressing toward the center and by compressing the clay which later forms the pronounced foot that I like.

There are a number of reasons that I like throwing this way. The first is you wedge once and throw up to a dozen times. It also allows a differing view point to see the form at a level perspective while still on the wheel.This technique allows me to throw and define most of the foot to minimize on tooling once the pot is leatherhard, saving on clay scraps and time down the road. Last but not least, with the piece elevated from the wheel head, any altering, paddling, stamping, etc. is easier to perform without striking the wheel. Truth be told, though I am not Japanese, nor do I think I am, throwing in this Japanese way helps me feel closer to a tradition that I have studied and admired, long before I was ever a potter.

A CONSTANT MEASURE

My introduction to pottery happened rather round about and later than usual. I had been doing free lance writing for several publications and was writing a forward to a catalogue on ceramics and figured I may want to go and get some input from the “local” pottery professor. I made an appointment and met with Bill Klock, professor of ceramics at Plattsburgh State University. Naturally, I had tons of questions and Bill suggested that I come into a class and try it for myself. Once there, I was hooked and was allowed to audit the class, fire kilns and become friends with a great teacher.


Bill, William Henry Klock, was not your ordinary teacher. He had apprenticed with Bernanrd Leach, spending some time visiting the Cardew pottery, and later in life, trekked to Korea to work with Korean craftsman and fell under the influence of the Onggi potters. His ability in clay is equally matched by his skill working with wood and his insightful draftsmanship. Bill’s style of teaching and making pots is casual. It shows in the rhythm of his pots and his pupils. His command of throwing and sculpture has been a constant measure as I work, always wondering what Bill would do and how he would approach it. We eventually made the next step and wood fired at his home in upstate New York, further cementing my future in pottery. His energy, patience and willingness to share was a boon to many, myself included, who have come in contact with Bill over the years. His command of stoneware and earthenware, sometimes made with his friend Clive Bowen, is best understood in hand and through the use of his pottery. Some of my favorite pots I own are by Bill and after nearly 20 years, the continued dialogue only deepens.

Bill retired from teaching and is Professor Emeritus of SUNY, Plattsburgh. He still makes pots and furniture when he is not off trekking about to England, the Caribbean or elsewhere with his wife Anna. Having worked/studied with three Leach pupils, a Japanese master and numerous others, I can say, Bill will remain a constant measure to guide me along the road of pottery making.

(All pots from the Bird Collection, always wanted to say that................)