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That guinomi is good enough to join me in my coffin

There is a colleague of mine who trained in the Seto pottery tradition. To not mince words, I willingly admit that I greatly respect their work. The person concerned is especially famous for their employment of celadon green and certain rice-colored glazes. Likewise, there is a certain something about their Oribe ware. I should also mention that they are felt to be a master of the potter’s wheel. Thus, personally speaking, I am greatly enamored by both the sharpness and depth of their efforts. Similarly, in a professional sense, I feel that what they have already achieved in their career closely coincides with some of my own aims. I make mention of that because the pieces they produce are liberally sprinkled with a rare and special essence that can sway the human heart.


Having offered all that as background, I shall now proceed to describe what happened on one occasion when I was holding a private exhibition of my work in Tokyo. Quite unexpectedly, on a certain day, I recognized a visitor as being none other than a noted collector of the works of my colleague. Thus, I was presented with an opportunity that I could not overlook. Accordingly, after having engaged in some small talk, I asked the visitor straight out whether or not I could view their noted collection of pottery pieces. However, my first request fell flat, and the collector turned me down. Not to be denied, I made the same request a second time, but nevertheless the outcome was the same. Finally, I made a third request, and much to my surprise, my wish was granted. Thus, it was decided that I would call at the collector’s home on the day following the conclusion of the exhibition.


To offer some additional information at this juncture, upon previously attending an exhibition that was put on by my much-admired colleague, I encountered certain pottery pieces whose glaze was of a milky cream hue. Without a doubt, such had occurred during the firing process. Accordingly, upon those works, my colleague had conferred the collective name of kamahen (literally “kiln changes”). What is more, although the exact origin of that naming in particular was unclear, I had previously witnessed similar results. Such had been pieces that I knew to have been fired at the wrong temperature after the application of a celadon green glaze. Thus, what should have been a bluishness with a certain transparency, left the kiln entirely milky white. Nevertheless, my colleague had included both a bowl and a guinomilike that in their exhibition. The result was that when those same works were seen by the collector, they were singled out for special praise as being fine examples of my colleague’s art.


Now, to return to my own interactions with the collector, whether or not it was right, when visiting their home, I turned up at about 9:00 am. In doing so, I had it in the back of my mind that we would probably be finished talking about the collection at around about lunchtime. Boy, didn’t I get that wrong.


Having set out, I arrived at a house that was truly spectacular. What is more, upon being given permission to enter, I was shown into a room in which just about all of the space was taken up by a mountain of wooden presentation cases, each of which contained a spectacular piece of pottery. To say I was stunned would be a dramatic understatement.


In any case, the proud owner then proceeded to take each individual piece from its case and present it to me. Having done so, we then took time to talk about the motivations and emotions that underpinned the creation of every single work. Additionally, we debated both the good and bad elements of the calligraphy descriptions. Furthermore, we did not stop there, we then proceeded to consider the braiding used to decorate the presentation boxes, and the differences we perceived in how the pieces had been placed in them. Of course, due to the breadth of such a wide-ranging discussion, time flew by with the result that we both were confronted by the prospect of lunch. It was prepared by my host’s wife, and much to my great enjoyment, the meal was served on tableware that had been made by my esteemed colleague. Then again, for my hosts, it seemed to be very much just an extension of their day-to-day lives. Meanwhile, I will tell you that my hands literally shook every time I held a piece of pottery.


Anyway, more time passed, and in the afternoon, I was given the opportunity to not just see and talk about my admired colleague’s work, but about numerous other pieces produced by some of the giants of this nation’s traditional arts and crafts. By then it had got to 5:00 pm in the late afternoon, but there was still a sizable mountain of presentation boxes that had not been opened.


In following on, for dinner I was given a full course meal, with each dish served on a piece of pottery that was the creation of a master craftsman. Additionally, among the lacquer and glassware as well, there were numerous truly amazing examples. What is more, following the meal, the procession of wonders continued, with my being presented with certain works in glass that normally resided in the collection of an art gallery. By that time, I had begun to worry as to whether or not I would be in time to catch the last train home. Without giving away any secrets, I should tell the reader that this wonderful experience took place in Nishi-Funabashi. I thought I would never return to Kyoto.


Finally, to conclude the proceedings, all that was left unopened seemed to be a presentation box that contained a guinomi, and while looking at it out of the corner of my eye, I continued to talk to my host about matters such as changes that were occurring within the pottery industry, what I should do in the future regarding my own career, and what should be the attitude of potters more generally. Indeed, the discussion had gone on for so long that I was on the verge of thinking that it was perhaps not that important if we did not get around to opening that last box. However, obviously my host had other plans. Without any warning, he turned to open it while saying, “there is just one more thing that I would like to show you.” When the contents were exposed, I was amazed as I was presented by a guinomi glazed in red in all its finery. In an instant, I realized what it was. It was one of the famous red pieces of pottery that were done by Munemaro Ishiguro, who was not just a giant of Japan’s traditional pottery, but who also happened to be the master of my own beloved teacher. After being shown such a piece that is considered to be better than perfect by many individuals who are much more equipped than me to pass such a judgment, I was simply lost for words.


Upon closer inspection, however, I noticed that something like the letter “S” had been cut into the base, and as a professional potter, I thought that it was rather strange that somebody might seek to size a guinomi. What is more, I realized that there was some damage to the presentation box, and that the red glaze was almost faded like what might be seen with an ancient artifact.


In any case, in that it seemed that I was having trouble in commenting on the piece, my host asked me to give “my honest opinion” of what I was being shown. Accordingly, I started by saying, “Excuse both my directness and choice of words, but the workmanship of this piece is pretty shoddy.” Upon hearing that, somewhat rather unexpectedly, my host said, “I agree.” Furthermore, he told me that he had asked his wife and children to place the same guinomi into his right hand when placed in his coffin.


To comment on the situation of potters, I think that many are left wondering as to whether or not they are able to work on a day-to-day basis at 100% or even occasionally 120% of their inherent abilities. Nevertheless, when still very young, such a style of working is taken for granted. However, with the gaining of age and the acquisition of an old person’s body, even if somebody has the same vitality and desire to work, it can be difficult to replicate the same sense of tension. As to my own circumstances, when I was young and fulfilling the role of a business owner, I was more than willing to put my life on the line while working like crazy. Back then, what gave me the courage to act was the simple love of my art. Fast forward to the present, and I have now handed over the business. In saying that, I suppose that what I want to suggest is all about putting things into perspective. Thus, with the onset of maturity and then successively old age, it is only to be expected that the skills of a craftsman will falter. Nevertheless, even with a relatively simple pottery piece such as a humble guinomi, rather than evaluating its quality within the context of a specific snapshot that has been taken at a single point in time, I feel that it is more pertinent to be aware of the idea that such works represent the culmination of a craftsman’s entire efforts to that point. It is only through such means that the next sip of sake we drink from such vessels will be delicious.


To conclude the story of what I experienced that day, I managed to make it to Tokyo station on the last train while being very much in a dazed state. Subsequently, in having made no accommodation arrangements, I spent the remainder of the evening in a sauna in the Shimbashi District. Upon waking up the next morning, I caught the train back to Kyoto with my mind still awhirl. Truly, visiting the collector at his home was an earth-shattering experience. Finally, I should mention that thereafter I only saw the collector on one more occasion, and sometime after I heard that he had passed away. I thus believe that he passed into the next life with his cherished guinomi in hand. All in all, I feel that my chance encounter with him represented one of the biggest events in my life, and I hope that at some point in the future, I can become the sort of potter that the late gentleman described.

That guinomi is good enough to join me in my coffin

© 2023 Ikai Yuichi All rights reserved.

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