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.)