PC&F

Illustrated is a rather quintessential medieval style Shigaraki vessel created by Hoshino Ryosai which in many ways acts as a witness of a deep, personal and profound dialogue across time, conducted entirely in the silent, an innate vocabulary between potter, clay and fire. Whether intentionally or through serendipity, Hoshino Ryosai’s tsubo acts as a living bridge, pulling together the utilitarian depth of Japan's medieval past with the self-conscious, contemplative artistry of the modern era. Through years of exhaustive experience and experimentation, the very spirit of the Shigaraki tsubo tradition percolates through the form and “as time goes by” adds incrementally to a vital and vivid tradition.         

In the medieval period, feudal Shigaraki wares were born out of absolute necessity where these large, robust storage jars were the workhorses of agrarian life, designed to hold seed, water, and grain, the essential elements of survival and prosperity. Yet, as the centuries advanced, the early tea masters focused their attention on these unpretentious vessels and discovered an unexpected, quiet nobility. What was once vessels of pure function became the ultimate expression of wabi-sabi, an aesthetic celebrating the beauty of impermanence and imperfection. The natural ash glazes, painting their landscapes on this voluminous canvas where swelling shoulders made way for thick and visually enticing necks, mouths and lips, were not calculated by a painter's brush but given by the unpredictable nature of the wood-fired kiln.        

In more modern times, Hoshino Ryosai does not settle to merely copy these ancient forms; he channels their spirit and using his inner voice creates something that stands as an amalgam of the old and new. The contemporary relevance of this tsubo lies in its steadfast defiance of mass-produced objects, in an age dominated by plastic uniformity, this jar demands that we stop and engage with the tactile, the rough, and the authentic. The burst of dark feldspathic spots across its surface tells a story of intense heat and physical labor, each pot is different, each is unique even within a series and kiln firing. Due to Hoshino’s dedication and many like him, the modern viewer time travels to a moment when human hands negotiated directly with elemental forces to dramatic and lasting effect. Hoshino Ryosai’s work stands as a testament to patience, keeping the arduous and fiery tradition of medieval Shigaraki alive, while offering a chaotic modern world a vital insight and reminder into much needed stillness, grounding, and enduring grace.

PEDIGREE

The true trajectory of a potter’s life is often written directly into the clay, one starts out on one pathway, perhaps in botanical science only to have everything turned upside down while watching a famous potter on television. This is the story of Murokawa Tsuguo who jumped from one path to another after seeing the work of Arakawa Toyozo and though Arakawa was no longer accepting students, Murokawa made his way to the Suigetsu-gama where he worked for over a decade, seeing, studying and drinking in the knowledge and experience of the master before finally moving on and setting up his own studio and kiln in Mie Prefecture, home of Iga -yaki which this chawan is categorized as. 

Interestingly enough it is in this teabowl by Murokawa Tsuguo, that a compelling dialogue between two distinct ceramic traditions is readily apparent, that of the body of work produced by Arakawa and the Suigetsu-gama and the pottery of old Iga. The accompanying signed box describes this bowl rather simply; IGA CHAWAN, fired in the demanding environment of a Mie Prefecture anagama however the visual and tactile vocabulary of the vessel is inescapable, pointing directly back to the potter’s formative decade at Suigetsu-gama under the profound influence of the late Toyozo Arakawa. Rarely is there such a striking testament as to how deeply a master's lineage can saturate a craftsman's hands, psyche and intellect, refusing to be erased by a change of venue , geography or in this case a change of scenery of one’s own workshop and kiln.       

The form of this chawan carries a deliberate, anchored gravity that immediately commands attention, a posture and presence that again is linked back to Murokawa’s formulative years in pottery. It possesses a distinct visual and physical architecture that recalls the classic Momoyama revival tea vessels championed by Arakawa and others of the first half of the 20^th centuries when giants roamed and rebuilt the traditions of modern Japan. The rim undulates with the intentional and softest of rhythms, avoiding any sense of rigid symmetry, while the walls descend into a subtly compressed waist fending off any fussy manipulation. Near the foot, the base tightens with assertive, curving gracefully and with purpose that present both visual and physical stability. Within this structural clarity the vessel commands an unmistakable presence; it stands with absolute certainty, commanding its space with hints of nobility required for its use in the tea ceremony, balancing rugged autonomy with classical restraint.      

What makes this piece ultimately work as a cohesive entity is the [sophisticated] tension between its nominal classification and its actual surface. Rather than solely relying on the nature of an anagama’s accidental ash deposits across the pieces which is typical of traditional unglazed Iga, Murokawa has applied a controlled, vitreous glaze that speaks fluently of the language of the modern Mino tradition marrying his past with his present. Much of the bowl is enveloped in a pale olive-green glaze, pooling toward the base, the texture is distinctly waxy and matte with hints of wetness here and there and crusty ash, closely mimicking the prized aburage-hada (fried-tofu skin) of exceptional Ki-Seto ware.  Though the intent of potter and firing may have been the creation of an Iga chawan, the use of glaze, the form and its combined features clearly give off the immediate impression of pottery normally located about 100km to the south-west.    

Ultimately, this tea bowl stands as both testament and amalgam of past and present, master and student in its hybrid execution. Murokawa has taken the structural discipline and glaze sensibilities cultivated at Suigetsu-gama and subjected them to the atmosphere of an Iga firing. It is a lesson in modern convergence taking place all over Japan in modern times, demonstrating that a potter’s true pedigree cannot be hidden; it remains permanently etched like a monument, carved, chiseled and coerced from clay rather than stone.

TOO HIGH

This was a spur of the moment, end of day attempt at trying to capture some of the grace, posture and form of the rather impressive and famous Mine(no)Momiji chawan. I think it is quite clear, I was in no way attempting to actual make anything resembling a copy of that chawan but rather now and again I try to get at just a hint of the feel of the form and its animation which truth be told is both a very bridge to far and a bar just too high. This bowl came about as the remnant of throwing a group of lids off the hump out of white stoneware leaving just about enough for a teabowl. This was thrown, slightly manipulated, dried a bit and then had the foot cut with a sharp piece of wood that was once a simple shim or wedge. I decided to go all in on a fine line, incised and inlaid decoration paying homage to the MnM chawan adding stamped squares here and there to break up the surface. Once bisque and glazed in my Oribe base, a total of three additional glazes were added to try for that streaked and mottled surface I like and this was the end result. Miserable failure or just one more bowl closer to what I am after? I’ll let you know after another 100 are under my belt.

 

(CU) MAJESTY

Copper red glazes (xianhong) have quite the majestic history going all the way back to the 15^th Century in China, perfect monochrome making the fullest use of low oxygen atmospheres and just the right amount of copper. Since that time there has been a number of other styles of copper red across Europe and the US in the late 19^th century and these glazes, though not the perfection of Imperial Chinese monochrome, they are still noble and praise-worthy. Back when I started, it seemed like there was nothing quite as majestic and magical as the copper red glazes of Tom Turner and Tom Coleman who made this fluid, fluted beauty, a covered jar to boot! Stout and puffed full of volume, the vertical lines that define the flutes are a dark, black while the channels are filled with a red determined to move, running down the pot though now locked in a frozen struggle appearing to defy and mock gravity. Without sounding hyperbolic, there is a wondrous appeal to the symmetry and fullness of even the smallest of vessels that Coleman has put his mind and hands to, there is no escaping the contributions he has made to the art of porcelain and glazes he and his wife have made and the freshness and modernity he constantly presents us with.

SHINSAI KAMON

This mizusashi Morisato Toraku III (b. 1959) is a classic example of Kyo-yaki (Kyoto ware) that breathes contemporary life into the ancient Goryeo-derived Mishima tradition. The form is precisely thrown as the perfect canvas for the shinsai kamon pattern where the inlaid white slip and purple accents create a lyrical pattern around the entire surface and across the lid. This time-honored silhouette was born of both functional and aesthetic considerations where the surface and taunt structure balance quiet, functional dignity and noble aspirations for this vessel used in the tea ceremony. The mizusashi is completed by its simple, yet well decorated matching lid, finished off with a simple, utilitarian but intricate twisted "rope" handle, no mere afterthought as each detail and consideration unifies the pot as Aristotle was quick to note, “the whole is greater than the sum of its parts". 

The technique used on this mizusashi is Mishima, a testament to the rigorous precision of the Toraku lineage. Originating in Korea, this slip-inlay is reliant on the buncheong style which employs stamped or incised decorative elements, mostly geometric and floral patterns which are then filling white slip, creating the stark contrast between the body and the decoration. As the pot dries, the excess slip is scraped away and then bisque and later glazed in some transparent or translucent glaze to maximize the effect. In this piece, we see classic, oft used patterns of the family and kiln rendered with a precision and dedication that only a master of the Kyo-yaki tradition can achieve. The subtle use of purple and iron-oxide washes completes the shinsai kamon technique adding an additional depth to the precise design, softening the overall appearance and giving an illusory connection to paintings, silks and dyed fabrics known within the old Imperial capital.                    

This mizusashi and the pottery of the (Morisato) Toraku family is right at home in modern-day Kyoto and Kyo-yaki represents the "sophisticated rustic" aesthetic that defines the Kiyomizu-Gojo district. While many contemporary potters gravitate toward abstraction, the Toraku studio remains dedicated to the refinement of classical designs and decoration they are well known for. Unlike many modern-day potters and pottery, there are only hints of serendipity on the decorating, glazing and firing processes as its efforts are best rewarded in a rather calculated artistry. This approach creates a near standardization of technique and surface where though there are difference among the pottery, this work is more about how they connect with each other and the previous generations to create a tradition where the individual’s voice is quiet and more a whisper that a bold pronouncement. In many respects this style of Kyo-yaki helps bridges the gap between the rough, utilitarian roots of historical Mishima and the aristocratic elegance expected of Kyoto's centuries old aesthetic and traditions.            

If ever so slightly out of synch with the 21^st century, Morisato Toraku III has grasped the essence of this tradition and style while maintaining the “crispness” of this tradition while striving to infuse the vessel with a modern sense of volume and proportion. Through this insight, he has ensured that this mizusashi and the work of his studio are not merely copies of what has pasted, but a living continuation of Kyoto’s enduring ceramic legacy being ushered into the present day and beyond. It is a work of profound technical discipline and understated, under-appreciated beauty. 

QUICK POST, SIMPLE POT

Quick post, simple pot. Illustrated is a simple, paddled yunomi that was part of a group of eight. Five were teamed up and sent out as a set, one is kind of marginal and of the other two, this was the best one. As you can surmise, this was thrown out of stoneware and then paddled and tooled, once bisque it was glazed in my Oribe base and had two other glazes added. This is not the greatest yunomi ever made but it has some volume and feels good in the hand and as a potter, maybe that is the general expectation along with a sense of accomplishment when someone besides my wife responds well to the piece.

CLAY & COSMOS

My relationship with time did not begin at the potter’s wheel, nor did it mature through the inevitable and unstoppable tick of standard clocks. It was formed, even forged years earlier, fed on a steady diet of vintage science fiction and the sweeping, cosmic geometry of Carl Sagan. Watching Cosmos, I learned to see the universe not as a static backdrop, but as an ancient, unfolding tapestry where entropy and gravity are constants. Sagan helped give me this sense of deep time, a perspective where human history is reduced to a microscopic speck on a cosmic calendar, and where millions of years represent the smallest, most casual fraction of our vast universe. It is an overwhelming realization, one that shifts your gaze from the horizon directly in front of you to the absurd and incomprehensible infinite. Yet, paradoxically, it is this exact sense of cosmic scale that guides my hands when they are slick with slurry, throwing clay on a spinning wheel working in a studio where decades old music lingers or choices made to enhance our environment with “new” pots.   

When you look at the archeological record, there is a seismic shift that occurred in what amounts to a literal blink of a cosmic eye: the transition from actual stone to the fired vessel. Suddenly, we learned to shape the earth and trap fire for ritual, necessity and the promise of tomorrow, we turned raw clay into functional form. In the grand timeline of reality, this monumental leap happened in a flash as it bridges the gap between primitive survival and conscious creation, transforming chaotic geology into deliberate geometry, form and vessel.   

This forces an existential question, what is time to us as curators, and what is time to a pot? We treat these vessels with immense care, even reverence, displaying them caring for them and treating them as precious markers of our own time and contemporary culture yet our stewardship is inherently fleeting. The pot itself exists on an entirely different metaphysical plane. Once formed and fired, the intense heat vitrifies the clay, freezing its trapped silica matrix into a durable, glassy structure rendering a pot immortal in terms of time if not animation. That matrix does not share our mortality, long after the flesh has returned to dust, long after our current empires have dissolved into myth and forgotten with a whisper reminiscent of Shelly’s “Ozymandias”, that silica matrix, the form, the structure will remain. It will survive for millions of years, a nearly indestructible relic waiting silently in the dirt and subject only to geological upheavals.   

Surrounded by the quiet rhythm of the passing seasons, I often find myself drifting, contemplating our place in this web of recycled matter where the truth of the philosopher kings, Crosby, Stills & Nash* anthem echoes deeply: “We are stardust, we are golden, we are billion-year-old carbon.” The very atoms that comprise my hands, the carbon molecules in my bones, all of the necessary minerals waiting in the clay bed were all baked/ forged in the hearts of dying stars eons ago finding their way into something new, some momentary and some destined for some sense of longevity. Simply put, pottery is simply the act of one form of stardust reshaping another.    

Ultimately, we must accept a humbling and yet, inescapable truth: we will have these objects for only a very, very brief moment in time, we will never truly own the pots we collect, nor the one’s we make as potters but there is a hint of immortality in that making. We are merely temporary guardians, passing them through our brief flash of consciousness. We hold them for an afternoon, a decade, perhaps a lifetime, before passing them along to the deep future, a future where the pot will endure, keeping watch over a universe that is in reality just beginning.     

On a lighter note, here is something new(ish) from Bizen potter, Baba Takashi, an Oni-Shino guinomi. Though this fits broadly under the specter of Tsukigata’s Oni-Shino, I think it is safe to safe it falls within the general parameters of how I look at this specific surface. The form is simple enough with a strong wari-kodai and an interplay between feldspar, ash and iron the three requisite components of any Oni-Shino surface. As I mentioned, Baba is probably best known for his Kuro-Bizen with flourishes and highlights of cobalt across the surface adding a unique perspective to modern Bizen and this Oni-Shino work adds another avenue of pursuit for the innovative Okayama Prefecture native. Given the lead in to this guinomi, I wonder where this piece will be in 25, 100 or a thousand years, curious minds and all that. 

(* I realize Joni Mitchell wrote WOODSTOCK but I prefer Crosby, Stills & Nash)

M3 MOMIJI

With a slight nudge from AI tech, here is a Tamaoki Yasuo Shino hanaire, circa 1993 displayed in my mind’s museum. At first glance, this may seem an odd choice, going with this more decorative piece as opposed to his pots with large, undulating bands of contrasting glaze and texture but that is exactly why I choose this piece. Rather than relying on his banded pieces or his pots with sharp geometric patterning, Tamaoki infused this vase form with a rich Rimpa meets Nihonga narrative, reminiscent of Kenzan and Hoiitsu’s two-dimensional imagery of several centuries earlier. Using a strong and even idiosyncratic form, Tamaoki has made excellent use of both the available positive and negative space to lay out a rich ethereal landscape painted in the round where the mind can make any number of associations depending on the viewer.        

This vase was exhibited in 1993 and stands as a near perfect example of Tamaoki’s oeuvre where the vivid, purposeful color scheme is achieved through in this case, technical mastery of the technique which though is quite simple, there are complexities to this innovative use. I mentioned the near perfect technique; I focus on this in particular as the pot was fired in such a way that the entirety benefited from the kiln atmosphere where the surface is even all around. Though not uncommon, every aspect of this pot, from form, glazing, decoration and firing all had to come out just perfectly to create this vase as worthy an object as I can imagine, in my mind or in reality, where the museum is the final reservoirs of (such) human creativity.

LONESOME

Illustrated is a temmoku and iron glazed yunomi, this was fired entirely on its own, a lonesome piece in my kiln after the complete over-haul and in retrospect, I should have fired a slightly larger piece, maybe with a lid to fully vet the firing temperature. Over the years I have replaced elements a number of times but this one was complete including elements, all the wiring, the switches and the cone sitter. This was the second, almost empty firing and it is that last part that concerned me most as I didn’t want the kiln to run away and overfire based on how the claw and plate to the sitter were adjusted. This is where this small yunomi comes in, elevated to about the middle of the kiln space, this was fired on a large piece of broken shelf and a soft brick plinth in case the glaze ran off the piece. As luck would have it, though it got just a bit hot, now adjusted, the yunomi came out about how I expected, no running and perfect without any issues, just another typical form and surface here at Albedo 3 Studio.

WELL, THAT WAS FUN

This is not really pottery related but I will say it effected my ability to surf around, post and look at pots for a while starting last Friday. Though I will not mention the specifics, after a “scheduled update” one of the large anti-virus services that we have installed, everything on the computer just went haywire, the very definition of; “well, that was fun”. The problem was that we were signed out of all of our various accounts and couldn’t log back in, webpages would or wouldn’t load or reload depending on their mood and in this melee of swearing, desk pounding and resignation things just got worse. We did literally everything we could do to try to mitigate this issue including searching out viruses, malware, file corruptions, etc. and went so far as to reinstall the OS. Nothing solved the issue.       

After three days we threw in the towel and paid for a one-time incident support from our PC’s manufacturer. The appointed time arrived and of course because of our computer issues, making contact with the support technician became a Three Stooges routine through no fault on the techs end. He was polite, very knowledgeable and after assuming control of our PC started checking through just about every possible corner of the hardware and software and checked into the deepest oubliette, seemingly buried beneath the flotsam and jetsam of years of internet browsing and use. Since you read the beginning (?) of this post, you can probably surmise that it was not a file corruption, nor malware or virus, not a hardware issue either as we suspected but rather was the routine “scheduled update” from the anti-virus that threw havoc into our digital realm. With the help of the tech who reconfigured this and that, here and there, cleaned out places we didn’t know existed, the computer is now back to normal if that is a thing, having expended the third of its nine lives or is that just cats? 

As a way to tie this back to pottery, illustrated is a Ko-Mino mizusashi by Ando Hidetake. This is neither my photo or my pot and truthfully, in general it is a bit more formal than I prefer but this piece really works for me. The facets are just irregular enough and the neck/ mouth add some movement as well and the lid just looks like it is resting and waiting to be picked up. The lugs seem just right for this form and the contrast of the yellow toned glaze and the natural ash across the base just all work in tandem to create a rather attractive and appealing pot. Now I just need to figure out how to get it here.

CO-EXISTENCE

This Echizen chaire was made Ban Kojiro and is a classic study in the quiet and graceful nature of wood fired pottery. It stands not as a fussy and overthought object, but as a singular encounter between potter, clay and fire. The form is a stout, rounded katatsuki (shouldered) shape where the transition from the body to the neck is gentle, creating a silhouette that feels natural having the presence of earth determined to become vessel.       

The surface is where Kojiro’s knowledge of firing and kiln becomes quite evident where in the Echizen tradition, the pot is submitted to the fire sans glaze. The results of a calculated battle between heat and flame yields an all-natural ash glaze, yakishime which settles here and there at times favoring the face and shoulder in a crusty, coating of varying colors and textures. In this case, there is a rich tamadare waterfall that acts as a reminder of the process and traces the path of the flame, a record of the event, a perfect narrative of its journey. The texture created is intensely tactile; composed of a soft, granular, "pear-skin" quality that shifts from a rough matte to a vitrified sheen where the heat was most intense.         

Born in 1946, Kojiro’s journey was an exploration of clay and fire based on a long standing Echizen tradition where his works appear to revive the rugged aesthetic of the Muromachi period. The simplepottery is perfect for wood firing where the impurities and simplicity of the clay are a perfect visual counterpart to the ash accumulation during the firings; this chaire is a testament to that approach. The stark lid, an essential companion to the tea caddy provides a sharp, clean contrast to the rugged ceramic body, highlighting the vessel’s rustic "wabi" character and a hint of nobility in the exchange.       

In Kojiro’s hands, the clay is given its form and posture fully aware in the mutual understanding between potter, pot and flame that the potter’s role is to provide the canvas, while the kiln provides the soul and the landscape. This piece remains an essential example of the co-existence of function and presence, bridging the gap between the Echizen earth with the expectations and refined ritual of the tea room. 

( I should mention that acting as a backdrop in the photo is a wonderful Tom Turner covered jar!) 

YUNOMI, TEABOWL?

If you know me from my various social media ventures or my I, POTTER blog, you may realize by now that I like making large yunomi and teabowls. At times, the boundaries between the yunomi and teabowl is a bit fuzzy due to the scale and for some, one is the other and vice versa. Measuring about 10.5 x 10cm, this yunomi was thrown out of a white stoneware and then randomly and casually faceted, once bisque it was glazed with my standard Oribe as well as three separated iron glazes sprayed in various amounts across and down the surface. The basic result is as you see, looking bit like an amber glaze though checking the foot, it is clearly Oribe. The droozy effect that cascades down the piece, animated each faceted panel creating their own little landscapes though tied together in a more cohesive narrative of Oribe and iron working hand in hand. This yunomi ended up being a bit more important than usual as it was one of only a few pieces fired in the rebuilt kiln, complete with all new elements, switches, wiring, on/off light and kiln sitter. It took a couple of firings to dial in the firing/ cone/ pyrometer readings and it would appear all is good to go considering I have to replace two orders that died along with the kiln and now have an additional dozen of so pieces drying. Hopefully, all goes well this time around.

BLACK HOLE

At its core, yōhen tenmoku can be seen as capturing of an accident of kiln, clay and glaze which the potter takes the fullest advantage of. Prized for its ethereal, unpredictable beauty, this rare iron-rich glaze transforms, coerced by the experience of the potter creating a deep, obsidian-like field punctuated by brilliant, of sometimes subtle iridescent spots that resemble a map to the cosmos written in a night sky. The Japanese term yōhen translates to "changed by the kiln," emphasizing that these magnificent bursts of indigo, violet, and silver are not predictable or planned out but are instead born from the volatile alchemy of heat, oxygen, and mineral crystallization. It represents the pinnacle of iron based ceramic mastery precisely because it relies on relinquishing control, resulting in a surface that feels less like a static object and more like a living, animated insight into the universe itself.     

Kimura Morikazu’s yōhen-tenmoku henkō demands an absolute concentration where the flattened, circular flask, the henkō form, presents a stark architectural profile, a bold geometry defined by its flared neck, a stable foot, and a concentric, target-like indentation that recedes sharply into its center creating a canvas of depth. This deep, central recession acts like a vortex, a black hole even, pulling light into a dark, rich pool of iridescent crystal structures which in this case are subtle. Kimura’s mastery over iron-saturated glaze creates a surface that is fluid yet frozen, shifting dynamically under varying angles of illumination from deep plum to metallic silver.    

Admittedly, for the amateur photographer lie myself, this interplay of form and surface becomes an exercise in frustration resulting in hundreds of photos taken and mostly discarded. The henkō’s broad, curved canvas behaves like the aforementioned black hole drinking in the light and offer little in return as its pristine, glassy sheen registers every stray element in the room. Capturing the deep recess requires a light source that penetrates the center without overexposing the surrounding rim or washing out the subtle, oil-spot micro-crystals punctuating the entire surface. Instead of a faithful record, the lens often delivers a silhouette obscured by hot glare. One must learn to photograph not the clay itself, but the elusive, trapped light within it but alas, for the time being, this photo will have to do.