On being a potter in Kyoto
As mentioned elsewhere, long before I personally took my first breath in this world, for many generations my family ran a pottery shop in Gojozaka, a district of Kyoto considered to be both the beating heart of the Kyoyaki and Kiyomizuyaki schools of pottery.
To go into a little more detail regarding the former, rather than all of its pieces being considered high-class, in a traditional sense, it was possible to obtain stocks of Kyoyaki ware from a number of production areas located throughout Japan. Having shared that with the reader, however, I should add the caveat that, at the core of such production was certain vessels that have traditionally been produced with the Kyoto market in mind. Meanwhile, concerning the massed-produced clay pieces sourced from Seto and Tajimi, and the porcelain wares that have traditionally come from Arita, Imari, and Hasami, etc., back in the old days, there was only a limited volume of such that was actually handled by my family’s business. By contrast, for the record, I should mention to the reader that I do not have any solid childhood recollections of having seen examples of pottery from the strongly individualistic Kutani, Tobem or Satsuma schools. Similarly, I don’t remember seeing anything from Shigaraki, Bizen, Hagi or Karatsu either. Finally, although there were some examples of written works and tea-ceremony supplies in evidence within my childhood home, such were not things that the family business specialized in.
When I embarked on my journey to become a professional potter, it was not the case that I had any special interests in the field. Instead, all I knew at the time was encompassed by those pieces that I had encountered in my family’s shop. Thus, it was perhaps only when I started to formally learn at trade school, that I had some exposure to many other pottery genre. Concerning that, what I saw gave me a taste of the sort of wares that were traditionally produced by the Shigaraki, Bizen, and Karatsu schools. What is more, I developed a consciousness of what it meant to be a potter, and objet art also popped up on my radar. Additionally, to a limited extent, I also gained an appreciation of those works that were produced by fellow potters in overseas locations such as China and the Korean Peninsula. Concurrent to all of those developments, I also came to the realization that both art colleges and universities existed. Thus, the reader may appreciate that I set out on my career path initially from a perspective of almost total ignorance.
To talk about Kyoto’s pottery industry, when I was growing up there was still the unspoken rule that those families involved were to be distinct from one another in that they engaged in certain businesses only. Thus, there were those families (like mine) who sold pottery to consumers. Likewise, there were others who made their living either as a wholesaler or as a custodian of a firing kiln. Having mentioned such divisions, at the time, my simple level of understanding was that it was such a system that supported the city’s pottery industry. Then again, when talk arose of the son of a pottery retailer (me) actually becoming a working potter, I remember a kiln owner remarking, “haven’t you given any thought to the fact that as the son of a pottery shop, your job should be to sell as much of the pottery that my colleagues and I produce? Are you intending to take the mickey out of us?” Thinking about that, I do not know as to whether or not my own father was gifted with some foresight. Nevertheless, he quickly realized that it was important that in the creation of pottery, what needed to happen was that the industry as a whole in Kyoto needed to be more responsive to customer needs, and in that respect, it would be important to produce items and sell them directly in much the same way as was occurring in other production regions in Japan. Accordingly, I believe what he initially had in mind was for me to learn to become a creator, and then come back to the shop in the role of a back-room studio boss who could make wares right there on the premises.
Nevertheless, as young men are often inclined to do, I rebelled against my father’s wishes and decided to take the path that would end up with me becoming a fulltime artisan. Of course, there was also the option for there to be a tag-team relationship between a shop like that run by my family, and one or other of the firing kiln custodians. However, back then, there was not much in the way of mingling between the business of running a store, and the reclusiveness that is traditionally associated with fulltime pottery. Thus, right up until the time that he died, my father and I continued to fight fiercely about how to best proceed. During those altercations, he would always close the debate with the following lines, “in the final analysis, we might end up deriving our nourishment from nothing more than mist.” Concerning that observation, perhaps some readers would agree with it, while others would not. Indeed, when I was young, there would probably have been more support for the latter observation. These days, however, among my younger colleagues, it is perhaps the believers of the former who are in the majority.
Whatever the case, while continuing to openly spar with my father, secretly I perhaps hoped that the former view would win out. Having mentioned that, in that my father continued to push his own views regarding such issues until the end of his life, I am very grateful because his perseverance made me into the person I am today. Actually, after my father’s funeral had taken place, one of his friends told me the following concerning something he said at around the time that I was still trying to become an established potter. “Concerning potters who are able to accumulate wealth, they are able to sell a lot.”
Regarding the life of a Kyoto potter, it comes with its own unique challenges. For example, within the overall Kyoyaki school, there are a number of sub-genre all attempting to eke out an existence. Some of my colleagues make a living by producing pieces targeted at the souvenir market, others are more into the creation of lifestyle goods. Furthermore, when it comes to the mainstream tableware category, there is everything from those pieces that are used in itamae (the serving of over-the-counter sushi), through to large-scale banquet style settings for traditional Kyoto cuisine. The same could be said regarding traditional Edo style cuisine, while other restaurants (and their tableware needs) attempt to copy the traditions of China and the Korean Peninsula. Finally, there is also a set of pottery traditions that arise from the markets for tea-ceremony supplies, sencha accessories, and flower arrangement.
Within the Kyoto pottery scene, there are certain factions that are aligned to different bodies. What is more, there are varying characteristics evident among objet artists with different academic backgrounds. There are also certain non-aligned and modern artists, and people who have decided to go it alone. Indeed, there are just too many types of potter to keep track of them all. Everybody seems to do their own thing, with there being no real coordination at the local municipality level. There is also no organization among galleries, shops, or antique dealers. Nevertheless, in recent years I have come to feel that such a level of disorganization is something that is good about Kyoto.
