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Don’t besmirch your master’s name!

Such was said to me at a joint exhibition that had been put on by a collection of traditionally-aligned pottery studios. To put such matters into perspective, the occasion in question was an event that took place just a few years after I had put out my shingle. Back then, I was still in my mid-20s, when out of the blue one day, I was contacted by somebody regarding the possibility of my submitting a few pieces to the aforementioned exhibition. Furthermore, I should provide the reader with some more details regarding the situation at the time. Specifically, our group of traditionally-aligned studios used to hold a joint exhibition in January of each year in Tokyo’s Ikebukuro District. Following on, we repeated the exercise in April with an exhibition at a gallery run by a department store in Osaka’s Tenmanbashi. Regarding the first occasion on which I submitted pieces to the event, at the time, I had nothing really suitable in my studio’s inventory. Thus, upon further reflection based on many years of subsequent experience, I realize now that what I submitted was highly unsuitable. To expand on that sentiment, when I went to the gallery prior to the exhibition opening, my first reaction was that I felt extremely embarrassed when seeing my own offerings lined up alongside those of other potters with whom I had apprenticed. Thus, I felt like packing away my own works before anybody really had a chance to see them. However, perhaps unfortunately, one of my fellow ex-apprentices was kind enough to compliment me on the quality of my work, and because that touched my vanity, I allowed what I had made to remain on display for the rest of the week. That was a decision that would come back to haunt me.


To continue the narrative, there was a tradition back then for everybody who participated to gather for a banquet on the exhibition’s first day. On this particular occasion, however, when all the ex-apprentices came together, many were reticent to talk. Likewise, in such a claustrophobic atmosphere, many smoked incessantly while we awaited the master’s appearance. When he finally appeared, the tension in the room literally hit the roof. He proceeded to nonchalantly peruse the pottery pieces we ex-apprentices had put on display, before taking his seat without uttering a word. To the credit of his wife, she attempted to calm the situation by engaging him in conversation. However, all was for naught as he cut her off with a curt single-word response. The department store manager in charge of the gallery fared no better. He attempted some light conversation, only to end up standing ramrod straight to the extent that the imprint of his spine was clearly visible through his shirt. Next, what should have been an enjoyable lunch was eaten in complete silence. Concerning that, because I was the youngest ex-apprentice who attended on the day, my meal was served last. To wit, the menu was charcoaled eel served on a bed of white rice. It was accompanied by a bowl of steaming eel liver soup. However, I was not able to enjoy it. Instead, I had to get it down quickly in order to keep pace with everybody else. Accordingly, I stuffed my mouth while taking copious slurps of the soup, which I had in turn cooled down by adding to it a large volume of mineral water. Subsequently, having battled on and finished the meal, I remember what happened next. Namely, when I took my turn and stood alone as a representative of all the potters whose work was on display, somebody who I recognized as a long-term patron of my master suggested that I quickly pack away my own pieces, and “not besmirch my master’s name.”


Speaking more generally, from a mental perspective, as a working potter I found my 20s to be the most difficult period of my career. In saying that, rather than having regrets, I feel that there were occasions on which I felt overly embarrassed. At that point in my life, it had been a few years since I had graduated from pottery school, and by that time I had developed a small measure of pride in my skills. Accordingly, what my master’s long-term patron unexpectedly said was like a lightning bolt out of the blue, and it literally felt like I had been punched full in the face. Following on, some of my contemporaries got to the point of being able to create both self-expressive pieces and others upon which they conferred names. While noting their new-found freedom, I decided to focus on thoroughly brushing up my own skills. In doing so, I wanted to both quickly approach their level of technical competence, and to receive their approval. Furthermore, I wanted to be able to meet such stressful situations head-on.


For some reason, recently I recalled the recollections that I just described. Thus, in some strange way, it was almost like some of my contemporaries had experienced a baptism due to their participation in the event.

Don’t besmirch your master’s name!

© 2023 Ikai Yuichi All rights reserved.

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