Don’t operate your pottery wheel with a scary continence
I decided to broaden the range of my wares when in my 30s. What induced me to do so was the wake-up call I received when visiting a colleague.
Having offered that opening and possibly piqued the reader’s interest, I should perhaps commence the narrative by offering a bit of a backstory. Namely, at around the same time, some hot topics within pottery circles were the activities of a certain objet creator. Indeed, does that term still have currency in the current day and age? Whatever the case, I was a great fan of the colleague in question. As to why, such shall become more evident as my story unfolds. Nevertheless, by way of a teaser, I can tell the reader that I found it an irresistible idea that somebody like my colleague could ferment ideas literally from nothing and then transform them into tangible pieces. Additionally, I should add the following insight. Namely, in his youth, my colleague worked at a particular pottery studio as a master of the wheel. Other people have also told me that his output of pieces at that time was prodigious. To wit, there was talk of him being able to produce literally hundreds of yunomiteacups each day. What is more, I should mention at this point that I was taken to see him by a gallery owner. Obviously, I was really grateful for the opportunity at the time. Anyway, upon meeting him initially, my reaction was that I found him to be very much as I had expected in that he seemed to possess a rather exuberant personality. Concurrently, however, there was the sense of him being rather sensitive. Noting that, I was initially somewhat wary as to whether or not we would hit it off. Afterwards, however, I found my new friend to be both fashionable and possess a certain flair.
To continue on, in light of it being the first occasion on which we met, as a tool by which to break the ice, my colleague handed me some clay, the implication being that I might like to make something. However, such actions threw me off. I say that because, when sitting at my own wheel in my own studio, things are organized to the extent that, concerning those work tools that surround me, they are positioned in specific locations to a certain extent. Back then, that was also the sort of arrangement that I was very much accustomed to. Likewise, in the back of my mind, I no doubt assumed that colleagues in their own studios adopted a similar approach. However, what confronted me on the day was entirely different. His wheel sat alone almost an orphan, with nothing in the way of recognized tools surrounding it. Thus, I was at a loss as to how to best proceed, despite my host saying, “please feel free to make use of anything that is lying about.” Hearing that created within me somewhat of a quandary, which wasn’t resolved by the fact that my host then proceeded to produce a ruler speckled with clay, some small pebbles, various wood fragments, and what appeared upon reflection to be the lid of a tsubo, etc. Likewise, while pulling such items out of his proverbial hat, my host encouraged me to use them as impromptu tools. He then proceeded to chaff me with the following comment, “perhaps Kyoto potters cannot make anything without there being formal tools on hand.” That last shot really hit home, and I made up my mind to act. Thus, I took up some clay and set it to the wheel, then I started to work it. However, the quality of the clay itself was other than the norm. It seemed to have the consistency of something found in a field in that it lacked a sense of stickiness. What is more, it appeared to have been infused with grass roots. Thus, I could not thoroughly work it. Additionally, it seemed riddled with air pockets, and it appeared to be a lost case in that it didn’t stick together. While all those observations were passing through my mind, my host was still attempting to encourage me. In any case, I put the clay on the wheel, and dampened it with some water. It was then that I realized that, despite the wheel spinning freely, I could still not work the clay. Instead, in that it possessed no body, as the wheel proceeded to go around and around, the clay spread out and simply remained flat.
It was at that point that my host again intervened, “when you first touch such a clay, it is vital that you refer to your own mental filing system so as to best work out how such a material might be worked so as to give it form. Under no circumstances whatsoever should you just resort to something like the sprinkling of water. Put differently, what I am trying to suggest is that, from where I stand, people like you from Kyoto seem to be especially set in your ways. It is almost like you only have a single card to play. Again, throughout this country there are numerous methods for the working of such materials. Thus, you need to take a moment in order to fully appreciate the problem that confronts you.” When that was expressed by him, I realized that what I had been given to work with was essentially a form of very sticky mud. He also told me to not make decisions merely on the spur of the moment, while passing to me some very sticky clay and suggesting that I use it almost as an adhesive. Additionally, my host also mentioned my countenance. He said, “with such a scowl on your face, there is no way you could work at the wheel. Thinking about that, I feel that you folks in Kyoto can only make pieces that seem rather stiff, that just is not good, it is not good at all.” Having been that blunt, he then surprised me again by passing over a couple of cans of beer. When doing so, he told me to “get those down my throat in short order.” He then brought in a large-screen TV and set it up next to the pottery wheel. Following on, he turned up the volume of the TV, and I noticed that on the screen, it was the late Michael Jackson who was dancing up a storm on MTV. My host then said, “I hope you are enjoying yourself.”
With everything that happened, I chose that time to show some of my own backbone. Thus, while fighting to master an uncooperative clay that I felt would be difficult even when forming the smallest of plates, I managed to quickly create 10 yunomi teacups and 10 bowls. Upon realizing my efforts, my host said, “you are the first person I have ever met who could make something from clay like that. Indeed, just last month I had a master potter visit me from Kyoto, but even he threw in the towel when I posed the same challenge to him.” By that point, both of us had partaken of a fair bit of alcohol, and thus we talked about the emotional inputs that we were instilling our wares with. That in turn brought to my own mind that my host’s inputs had assisted me. Thus, I took the opportunity to inscribe the pieces that I had done with “HELP” as a form of commemoration.
On the next day, rather unexpectedly, I found that the works I had created had been pared down. Rather than traditional paring, however, the process seemed to be more of a case of some of the clay having been pinched off. Then a few months later, I was sent some of the same pieces that had been glazed and fired. Of particular note was there seemed to be a design that resembled the capturing of a crying soul. Such were something that I have only seen produced on that single occasion.
All-in-all, I feel that meeting up with such a colleague was a very special experience. I also feel that he passed onto me an idea that is very important. Thus, since our meeting, I have been sure to have in my armory of tricks multiple ways of doing things. What is more, I also try to not get hung up on received ideas. Accordingly, such a mindset as taught to me by my colleague continues to help me out.
*Sometime later, like me, I heard that the colleague in question held both Ishiguro Munemaro and Yagi Kazuo in great esteem.
