WAITING FOR THE UME BLOSSOMS

A fellow collector or rather someone who is buying pots to use, sent these two photos which I assembled to give both views of the vase. The pot is an all naturally fired Echizan hanaire by Kumano Kuroemon, the type he puts in his blast furnace kiln without any glaze and as you can tell what is visible is the rich purple surface of the pot with areas of running ash, rushing to the bottom as the piece was fired together with an array of wad scars adding to the rustic and powerful landscape. The pot stand guard in front of wind swept pine scroll waiting for the ume blossoms to bloom come spring to fulfill the purpose of this vase. There is another factor to this vase as it was selected by Kumano to appear in the TOH #88 dedicated to his work (and vision) as a potter attesting to the fondness and regard he must have had for this pot. I think it is safe to say that with or without the vivid blossoms, this vase is more than enough to get you through the winter months with something to have a pleasant fireside chat with.

GO

Illustrated is a close up of the interior of a rather large (aren't they all) chawan by the Bear of Echizen, Kumano Kuroemon. Known as "GO" for the five drips in the mikomi, molten drips from pots above, shelves and the kiln itself have found their way to the bottom of the bowl and have run into one another to create a design reminiscent of an abstract plum blossom. There is a great deal of happenstance when firing a wood kiln, some good, some bad and that which is expected or hoped in one manner or another. I have seen a number of wood fired pots with seemingly random drips on interiors and exteriors and in the case of Kumano, a number of his chawan and hachi have such drips to testify to the volatility and ferocity of the molten ash that few potter's can get where the clay, glaze, kiln and potter are all at the borders of their physical limitations.

"A man who limits his interests, limits his life." Vincent Price (1911-1993)

ATTACK

I consider myself fortunate to have been able to study, work and fire with Kirk Mangus back in the early 90s. Watching him throw and then decorate his larger pots was quite a spectacle; a blend of speed, strength, determination, spontaneity and purpose. I was at Kent State when Kirk created the illustrated covered jar which is a fond memory as much a grand learning experience as it was pottery theater. He started by wedging two large amounts of clay and then centering the first amount of clay and then slamming the second one on top and centering it and the entire mass. Once centered he began the process of opening the clay up and making it rise from the bat, nearly 20" tall  with walls purposefully left thick to accommodate his style of deep relief carving.  After a few days the clay had set up enough and he first addressed the lid to make sure it made a good fit and then with a knife, simply cut away the excess in sharp, crisp facets to reduce the weight, then the carving of the pot began. Taking a moment he walked around the pot surveying the surface, form and obvious steps to the piece and wielding just a couple of tools he set in the raised boundaries that separated the panels before just going at the pot like a focused dervish in a well practiced attack. His cuts were fast and exceedingly direct and I did not see him hesitate even briefly and then the pot was done. Even though I know his menagerie of designs and elements was well practiced it was still quite the experience that I have yet to forget even a moment of.

"Every man's memory is his private literature." Aldous Huxley

IN MEMORIAM

It was just about one year ago that pottery lost another great way too early. On November 20, 2013, Kirk Mangus (1952-2013) passed away rather unexpectedly leaving a void at Kent State University, among the wood fired community and with family and friends. I knew Kirk and it was his teaching style and ability that drew me to the KSU masters program. He was a driving task master who was always willing to teach, share and help with a clever smirk and a depth of knowledge and ability. Many of his pots shared the cast of thousands of characters that swirled about in his head and just as many found their way on to paper in a graphic and playful manner. Kirk was direct, as were his pots and his firings in electric, gas, wood and salt but he will be truly remembered for his pursuit and dedication to wood firing and the wood firing community. He is sorely missed by anyone he came in contact with.

Illustrated is a large, heavily carved and unfinished pot by Kirk Mangus. Ready to be wood fired it reminds me of all the pots he made and all the pots he was yet to make.

SCARRED BEAUTY

In the West where Brother Thomas is considered by many to be a pinnacle of perfection, the cracks, scars, clam shell impressions and even pottery fragments seen on predominantly Shigaraki and Iga pots would seem to be diametrically opposed, but not necessarily so. In Japan and among those who love wood fired pottery, such “flaws” are seen not only as a testament to the process but also as aesthetic enhancements that add to the character of the pot. In their own way, these scarred beauties are perfection.

From my experience, wood firing is in its way a cruel mistress. The process is one in which the potter is made to stand sentinel to the demands, groans and signals of the kiln. On the inside, the pottery is subjected to the violence and velocity of the atmosphere, constantly assaulted by flame, wood and erosion from the ash and fire. It is only inevitable that pots will have cracks and other flaws from the intensity of heat, from being struck by stoked wood, from rising too fast in temperature, hikidashi process and too quickly a cooling. Because these all affect the pot, it is an accepted reality that wood fired pots will bear the scars of the process, but it is this surface that can not be forged, forced or imitated. It simple adds to the identity and uniqueness of each pot. From Tsujimura to Tsukigata all the way back to the beginning of wood fired pottery, the process can not be separated from the pot.

Wood firing is an expensive process, if not necessarily in economic terms, certainly in sweat equity. The process is both demanding and labor intensive. The building of a wood kiln, acquiring and splitting the wood, the loading of the kiln in a confined and cramped space, the days of constantly stoking the fire all add to the investment in time, labor and money. Everything about wood firing is about a commitment and choice that also demands salvaging as many pots out of a firing as possible. In the early days, all of the various flaws were just accepted as scars of the process and as long as the pots were able to be used they were seen as a narrative of the kiln. Pots that couldn’t be used, were sometimes adapted to use by means of reconstruction, sometimes yobi-tsugi (making a single pot out of the pieces of several) and other times kintsugi (gold lacquer repairs).

All of these scars from the ash impregnated clam shell patterns resembling pate de verre glass, to cracks and fissures to imbedded shards and shadows of other pots in the firing, all add to the complex landscape, keshiki of wood fired pottery. Pots that are a throwback to the medieval times, today show every sign of blending tradition with the modern. All you have to do is take a look at the pottery of Tsujimura Shiro, Kojima Kenji and Kon Chiharu to understand why a potter would subject his/her self to the demanding process that creates pots with cracks, flaws and other problems to create objects of scarred beauty.

Over the years, I have handled a great number of Eastern and Western wood fired pots and have truly come to appreciate the battle scars of an intense process. Remebering my first exposure to Japanese pots was the Shino and Seto-guro of Arakawa, the Hagi of the Miwa and the glazed wares of Hamada and Kawai, it took me some time to accept and grow fond of kamakizu (kiln flaws) and the like. My tastes have matured and my understanding of the pots has grown as well. A few years back I had a wonderful opportunity to examine a collection of Shigaraki and Iga works by Tsujimura Shiro. Most if not all of them bore the scars of the process and in all honesty, many have benefited from such additions to the landscape of the pot.


Illustrated are two pots made by Tsujimura Shiro. The first is a medium sized Shigaraki tsubo with cracks from the coil building process along with the remnants of another pot (or two) where the pots were in contact with each other. The second pot, shown in a close-up, is a very large globe tsubo with the circular remnants of a guinomi or yunomi infused with wonderful blue-green bidoro.