The more mundane an item, the harder it is to create
So said my late master some years ago. In offering such thoughts, I should add that the endeavors of potters like me invariably fall into one of two categories. Specifically, what we create tends to be either “decorative” or “instantaneous” in its execution, the former seeing much time expended on marquetry tasks or the application of detailed painted designs to pieces, etc., while the painstaking process of paring-down on occasion is likewise. By contrast, the latter might involve potters sitting at their wheel or employing techniques so as to highlight the distinctiveness of a particular clay. Personally, I am more a practitioner of executing instantaneous pieces, and in that respect, my efforts align with those craftspeople whose principal mediums of expression are to be found in the worlds of cut and blown glass. Meanwhile, I feel that the works of lacquerware specialists tend to be even more decorative, and the situation is similar among those whose living revolves around the manufacture of traditional dolls. Among the latter fraternity, however, there is nevertheless an exception in that each piece is concluded by the manual drawing in of the subject’s eyes, that in itself representing a more instantaneous form of execution.
Having offered such recollections, I should also comment in a more general sense as to the nature of traditional Japanese arts and crafts. Specifically, it is my belief that the vast majority of what is created is underpinned by the decorative imperative. Then again, perhaps pottery is an outlier, because while on one hand the wares of Arita, Kutani and Satsuma, etc., are clearly driven by a decorative aesthetic, those of Shigaraki, Tamba, Iga, Bizen, Hagi, Karatsu, Seto, and Tajimi, etc., are generally more instantaneous. Such variation represents one of the many attractions of our rich and long-established domestic traditions. To wit, many of my contemporaries who live in urban areas far removed from the traditional regional strongholds engage in the execution of decorative pieces, and in doing so I appreciate their underlying desire to remain astride of fashion, in that such closely aligns their wares with the lifestyles of the mass market.
As to what initially influenced me to pursue my profession, in that I was born into a family whose business was the selling of kyo-yaki(pottery wares created in the Kyoto tradition), I was fascinated by the variety of highly-painted and delicate pieces that I encountered when still young and impressionable. You could say that I was drawn to the apogee of the different techniques that I saw, and I desired to acquire such skills myself. Again, I thought that such represented everything that pottery as an art form offered.
However, at around about the time that I was undertaking my second year of vocational study, I became conscious of the different types of pottery being produced in other regions. Similarly, I came to know of certain practitioners, and I likewise felt the attraction of instantaneous execution. I was also very much energized by the expressionism that was being incorporated into various wares. The experiencing of such an awakening of my emotions set my spine atingle. As to an episode that subsequently turned out to be decisive, I recall the first time that I witnessed my master applying himself to the wheel. To describe what happened, it was totally unlike the previous occasions when I had seen others at work as part of my apprenticeship. In my master’s hands, the clay seemed to come alive. What is more, the bowl he created was quickly cut from the wheel upon completion and placed on a board. What amazed me was that it was already finished, there was nothing about it that required further adjustment. Its softness, sense of warmth, underlying strength, and design, were all in perfect equilibrium. My mind was thus in a state of confusion. I asked myself, “What just happened? What have I witnessed? What about the skills and techniques just employed?” Upon reflection, I was shocked to have seen so many different things happen at numerous locations on the piece in no more than a few seconds.
Having subsequently completed two years of vocational school, I was initially quite confident in terms of my ability to “make” most things. Thus, I was quick to apply myself to the potter’s wheel, to add my clay, and to give it a try. However, no matter how many times I attempted to create something, matters didn’t go smoothly. Even with the simplest vessels, despite their being visually pleasing, delicate, and well-proportioned, I was unable to incorporate an emotional component. Put differently, even though I could finish my executions well and supply them with a sense of originality to the extent that they would be well received when beautifully glazed and fired, I sensed that the subsequent results were rather cheap-looking and failed to stir the heart. Perhaps my overall mindset at the time had something to do with my upbringing. To wit, because of what I had seen when growing up, it was my belief that I already possessed a rather good nose regarding what might sell. However, I was unable to create such works myself.
Viewed from such a perspective, I think that being able to create things that sell is somewhat removed from the nature of technical excellence. Accordingly, against the backcloth of there being differences in the nature of the human vessel, I struggled at times in terms of lacking confidence in my own abilities. Looking back from my present self, I am uncertain as to what to make of how I used to be. However, there are still those words that my master shared with me all those years ago. Namely, “the more mundane an item, the harder it is to create.”
Fast forward to the present, and I still reflect upon my master’s thoughts from roughly 40 years ago. During his own career, did he experience periods of self-doubt? If somebody of his stature, widely recognized as a genius, had such feelings, what hope is there for me as somebody already self-conscious of his own mediocre skills? When sitting at my own wheel and taking up my clay, I know that if I don’t constantly reinvent myself, I cannot hope to get close to achieving a similar quality in my own executions. Then again, perhaps such ramblings don’t really answer the question as to who I am as a potter. Instead, maybe they give some insights into what I hope to achieve through my work.
