Tag: entoten

Shumpei Yamaki at Entoten Gallery, San Diego CA,
October 26, 2019, 12:00-5:00 pm

A few months ago, I was communicating with potter Shumpei Yamaki from Iowa about his forthcoming reception and show at Entoten’s Gallery in San Diego in late October. Amid our discussion, he cheerfully wrote: “Oh, by the way, I’m going to fire the kiln without using a thermometer or pyrometric cones this time!”

Unlike many potters that load similar sized items in groups inside the kiln, Shumpei Yamaki mixes the arrangement of vessels without consideration for size and shape.
Photo courtesy of Shumpei Yamaki

Thermometers and cones measure when the kiln reaches the desired temperature, and almost all potters use them to make sure that the firing is progressing as expected.

I did not say this to him, but my immediate response to Shumpei’s audacious decision was why not use the thermometer and cones as reassurance? Was it really necessary to not use them at all? Shumpei though has been firing with wood for the last decade, so there was little doubt that he knew what he was doing, so I kept quiet.

The inside of Shumpei’s fully loaded kiln. Most of the pots are not bisqued.
Photo courtesy of Shumpei Yamaki, September 2019

“I really want to be completely immersed in the firing and ‘be one’ with my kiln”, Shumpei answered when I called him after he had concluded the firing at the end of September. “It was amazing. I now know what it means to meet the ‘kiln god’!” Shumpei said excitedly about the experience.

Usually, between 60 and 70 percent of the pots get covered in ash deposits, glossiness and markings in a single firing, which are the desired effects of wood-fired pots. But this time, almost every piece had these effects. It was the most successful firing that Shumpei had in his entire potting career.

Shumpei Yamaki fires his kiln for 4 days + 4 hrs. The kiln is fired twice a year.
Photo courtesy of Shumpei Yamaki

Shumpei is convinced that this success was due to not using the thermometer and cones. “I knew I was doing everything right, but when I was using the thermometer and the cones, it was difficult to focus. And when I am distracted, I do unnecessary things like opening the kiln door more often to check the surfaces of the pots or stoking for fear that the temperature is falling. It was like I wasn’t really trusting my kiln,” he mused.

The inside of Shumpei’s wood-firing kiln after firing. Photo courtesy of Shumpei Yamaki, September 2019

Shumpei further explained that “usually at the climax of the firing, when the kiln reaches 2,300 degrees or more, things are crazy because we have to constantly stoke. If we space out even for 5 minutes, the temperature will drop. But this time, it was like the kiln fired itself and I just assisted it. It was so peaceful, and when I added wood, I saw the blue flame that indicates that the kiln is very hot. Usually there is a lot of smoke, this time there was hardly any. It was like the kiln took everything that the wood had to offer. It was the most magical experience!”

Now let me briefly offer some scientific perspectives. “Flow-state” was defined by Psychologist Mihály Csíkszentmihályi in his 1990 book as the “optimal state of consciousness where we feel our best and perform our best.” There is a BBC article on the physical and psychological benefits of getting into this state. Shumpei said he wanted to reach this state of mind during the firing and achieved it.

The pots that came out of the firing in September 2019.
Photo courtesy of Shumpei Yamaki

After talking to Shumpei, I also realized that I had experienced something very similar while preparing tea in chanoyu (also known as the tea ceremony – but I personally prefer this word). As I prepared the tea, my body moved exactly how it should, and I could make a bowl of tea without thinking. It took several years of learning chanoyu to experience it, but I felt ecstatic afterwards. This is one of the reasons why I am now completely hooked to tea.

Which brings me back to the earlier question: was it necessary for Shumpei to eliminate the thermometer and cones? Yes, absolutely.

Grand Opening of Entoten Gallery with White Ceramics by Hanako Nakazato

August 5, 2018Ceramics Hanako Nakazato

On August 11th from 12:00 pm to 5 pm, Entoten Gallery in San Diego will have a grand opening event featuring white ceramics by Hanako Nakazato of Monohanako in Maine.

Hat bowls by Hanako Nakazato

I’m very happy to feature Hanako’s work at the opening of my gallery because when I was refinishing the texture of the gallery’s walls, I had her white ceramics in mind and decided to paint one of the walls blue. I thought that this blue backdrop would be perfect for people to see the exquisite forms of Hanako’s creations.

Shinogi bowl by Hanako Nakazato

I have always been grateful in being able to introduce Hanako’s work through my website because I believe that she is one of the most brilliant potters of our generation. If you have ever used her pots on your dining table, I know that you will agree. And if you haven’t yet, I hope that our gallery opening will be your opportunity to see her outstanding work in person.

I hope to see you all there!

Hanako Nakazato doing a demonstration at her studio in Karatsu for pottery enthusiasts from the US in the spring of 2018

Spring in Melancholic Uji: Asahiyaki Pottery and the First Harvest of Tea

June 18, 2015Kyoto Travels

Each time my tea teacher presented a collection of tea bowls for her students to use, I was invariably drawn to one with a delicate form adorned with a light shade of orange spots. Eventually, I asked my teacher where the bowl came from. She excitedly replied that it was “from Asahiyaki near Kyoto and it is one of my favorite bowls!”

An Asahiyaki tea bowl with kase markings. This bowl uses clay that is high in iron and is also called benikase, or red kase.

I had never heard of Asahiyaki, but a quick search revealed that it is a small pottery kiln located in the city of Uji, just south of Kyoto. With my curiosity piqued, I decided to pay a visit to Uji during a trip to Japan this past spring.

Located between Kyoto and Nara, Uji is easily overlooked by its larger and more famous neighbors. It is only 15 minutes by fast train from Kyoto and its most famous sight is the old Buddhist temple of Byodoin, which is designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The famous Uji bridge is said to have been first built in 646, and rebuilt countless times subsequently. It is mentioned in the classic ‘The Tale of Genji’ written by Murasaki Shikibu in the early years of the 11th Century.

In the tea world though, Uji is a heavyweight and its name is associated with green tea. Uji tea has long been renowned for its high quality and fragrance, and what this translated into during the warring states era of Japanese history was, power, privilege, intense rivalry, and… traffic jams.

During the Edo (1603–1868) era, the Tokugawa Shogun in Tokyo demanded the first tea to be delivered from Uji annually in a tea-jar procession or ochatsubo dochu. These tea jars were given the highest status and wherever the procession went, all the common folk were required to stop whatever they were doing and kneel to the ground in reverence. They were also not allowed to overtake this procession as it made its slow, snobbish way to Tokyo. This most likely created the first-ever seasonal traffic jams in Japanese history.

A sign at a Uji tea shop depicting a tea jar.Uji is only about 20 miles west of the pottery town of Shigaraki, where many tea jars were made.

Not only were the ordinary public inconvenienced annually by these tea processions, but they also had no access to the tea as this was considered to be a precious commodity only available to the ruling elites.

In today’s more egalitarian times, tea is available to all and when I set foot in Uji on an extremely hot day in early June, I enjoyed the sheer pleasure of walking through streets lined with tea shops. Many of them were advertising tea from the first harvest of the year that had just been released.

New tea harvest advertised at the front of a Uji tea shop

I walked along the north bank of the Uji river past the Ujigami Shrine and this led me to the Asahiyaki pottery, where my earlier affinity with my teacher’s tea bowl had inspired me to travel to Uji. The Asahiyaki pottery is housed in a building with a thatched roof and a tasteful fabric sign. At the pottery’s gallery, I was met by Matsubayashi Toshiyuki, the son of the 15^th generation Matsubayashi Hosai currently in charge of the 400 year-old kiln.

Toshiyuki-san explained that Asahiyaki pots are made from clay that is dug locally and matured over many years, sometimes for more than a century. The pots are thrown and fired in a traditional wood-firing kiln. The distinct spots are called kase, which means ‘deer back’ because it resembles the back of a baby deer. The markings are created when the pots are repeatedly exposed to reduction and oxidation in a single firing.

The Asahiyaki pottery gallery in Uji

I told Toshiyuki-san that the gentle form of these pots was especially intriguing. He explained that it probably stemmed from the distinct method of throwing in which a stick is used to turn and create the momentum on the wheel. “The wheel only turns for a limited amount of time with force and the revolution becomes slow very quickly which creates a distinct gentleness,” he explained.

As I left Asahiyaki pottery, I thought that gentleness is indeed the most appropriate word that captures what Uji is about, perhaps together with a little sense of melancholy. This maybe because I had read that Uji’s name originated from the Japanese word ushi, which means sorrow. Or conceivably it was from the historical depiction of Uji in The Tale of Genji -required reading during my school years- where the forsaken in life were exiled.

Looking down towards the Uji river from Ujigami shrine, which is a World Heritage Site

For the next several hours, I strolled around the river bank visiting small shrines and popping into several tea shops. At Rishouen tea shop –recommended by my hosts at Asahiyaki- the kind owner offered me a taste of single origin Uji tea, produced only in limited quantities.

When I finally arrived at Byodoin temple, the highlight for most visitors to the area, it was already late afternoon. I had come to the temple with little in the way of expectation as I had already previewed the building countless times featured on the back of the 10 Yen coin. The famous bronze phoenix on top of the temple roof is also on the 10,000 Yen note, which I see far less often.

The magnificent Byodoin temple in Uji

But when I saw the temple, I was stunned by its sheer exquisiteness. The temple was built in 1053 by Fujiwara no Yorimichi, a powerful noble who lived in the late Heian (794-1185) era. It was constructed to represent a tranquil paradise that the Heian Buddhists dreamed of after death, the heaven on earth imagined by people weary of all the turmoil they endured towards the end of an era. Magnificent colors had been restored in recent repairs to the temple, and the hues seemed to heighten the temple’s sorrowful beauty in the late afternoon light.

San-no-ma of Uji bridge, the part of the city’s famous bridge where water is drawn every October for Uji’s tea festival. It is said that Toyotomi Hideyoshi, the 16th Century daimyo and the country’s second great unifier, had water drawn from the same river for a tea ceremony.

As I left this unexpected paradise and walked back towards the train station, I wished that more buildings had survived from the Heian era. I even ambitiously thought that it would be interesting to visit Uji again after revisiting The Tale of Genji.

If you are ever in Kyoto, I highly recommend that you make the time to visit the quietude of Uji, take a sip of the acclaimed tea, and glimpse the tranquility of a bygone era.

The Flavor of the Earth: The Rustic Ceramics of Shigaraki

February 25, 2015Ceramics Shigaraki

Situated below Lake Biwa in Shiga Prefecture and surrounded by the low mountains where the famous Koka Ninja mercenaries perfected their deadly skills during the Warring States period is the pottery town of Shigaraki. Last fall I accompanied a pottery tour group organized by Bill Geisinger and Ben Horiuchi to this sedate town where we met local potters who practice the old art of wood-firing unglazed Shigaraki pottery.

Shigaraki jar by Takahashi Rakusai. The jar displays the landscape of fire color (hi-iro), scorch (koge) and burst rocks (ishihaze). The white feldspar dots protruding out of the surface of the clay are lovingly called kani-no-me (crab eyes) by enthusiasts.
(Photo by Tomoko Matsubayashi)

Shigaraki is one of the oldest pottery towns in Japan with a history dating back more than 1,200 years. Historians say that local kilns were producing roof tiles when the emperor Shomu briefly relocated his palace to the area from Kyoto in 742 AD. These days, many Japanese know Shigaraki for its Tanuki or Japanese raccoon dog ceramic figures that became popular after the Meiji (1868-1912) era.

Shigaraki racoon dog figures are considered to be auspicious icons that bring good fortune.
(Photo by Tomoko Matsubayashi)

By the mid 13^th century, historical accounts suggest that Shigaraki began production of simple unglazed wares with irregular colors ranging from gray to reddish orange and even black. Its distinct rough surface is due to the local clay that naturally contains numerous pieces of feldspar and silica stones of various sizes. The surface markings are achieved by a very primitive form of wood-firing kiln called Anagama.

Close up of a Shigaraki vase by Kohara Yasuhiro showing the dynamic textures and colors created naturally by the clay, fire and ash. The green wash (bidoro) is achieved by the vitrified ash from pine wood used to fire the kiln.
(Photo by Tomoko Matsubayashi)

These wares, like jars and urns, were coil built and made mostly for use by farmers. In the late 16^th Century, tea masters of the late Muromachi and Momoyama (1573-1603) periods deemed these simple vessels to be of exquisite beauty for their flavor of the earth or tsuchiaji. For example, the antique Shigaraki uzukumaru, small jars for storing seeds, are highly prized as flower vases.

Looking at Shigaraki pottery, I feel similar emotions as when I see a weathered piece of wood, or old stones covered in beautiful moss. It reminds me of the power of nature and triggers both awe and longing to connect with its essence.

In our exploration of Shigaraki, we first visited Kohara Yasuhiro, an internationally famous potter who owns a large gallery and shop in the heart of Shigaraki town that features many local potters’ work.

Shigaraki small jars and large plate by Kohara Yasuhiro
(Photo by Tomoko Matsubayashi)

Kohara-san’s work combines the rough Shigaraki clay with the natural and beautiful markings from the Anagama kiln. A prime example is the green glassy pool and dragonfly eye formed by the collected pine wood ash and bright orange clay surface against the dark koge or burn marks. His work is refreshingly free and contemporary while boldly reflecting the tradition and spirit of old Shigaraki ware.

Kohara-san explained that while it is often said that what happens inside a wood-fired kiln cannot be controlled, it can be anticipated through experience. His work clearly demonstrates his knowledge and expertise in the process, and potters from all over the world seek advice from him.

For those lucky enough to be going to the 28th Annual North Carolina Potter’s Conference taking place next week, you will be able to meet this talented potter along with his wife Kohara Shizuko who will be giving a presentation on Shigaraki pottery on March 5.

Anagama kiln of Kohara Yasuhiro. Left: Kohara Yasuhiro, Right: Bill Geisinger

Another potter we visited was Takahashi Rakusai V, whose family has been making wares in Shigaraki for over 180 years. The Takahashi Rakusai kiln was started by Takahashi Tozaemon, who was regarded as one of the master tea ceramics makers in the late Tokugawa Shogunate era (1853-1868).

Tea ceramics by Takahashi Rakusai
(Photo by Tomoko Matsubayashi)

But by the time that Tozaemon was active in the early to mid 19^th Century, Shigaraki had already lost its leading role as a tea ceramics maker. Many of its kilns were converted to the mass-production of glazed wares with processed clay that had all of the feldspar and silica particles removed.

Takahashi Rakusai III took over the running of the family kiln in 1917 and sought to revive the beauty of unglazed tea ceramics made during the Momoyama period. His efforts were instrumental in beginning the gradual revival of unglazed Shigaraki pottery. Takahashi Rakusai III was designated as the Shiga Prefectural Intangible Cultural Property in 1964.

The inside of the snake kiln (jagama), a type of anagama at the Takahashi Rakusai kiln.
The family fires three different types of wood-fired kilns.
(Photo by Tomoko Matsubayashi)

The Takahashi family continues today to produce tea ceramics and other pots for daily use. The current Takahashi Rakusai V took over the family title in 2010 and is known for his tranquil and simple work style. He is an avid student of chaji or tea matters who had studied with the renowned tea scholar Kazue Hyonenshi, and chabana or tea flower with Kato Tansai.

The three generations of potters at Takahashi Rakusai Kiln. From the left, Takahashi Rakusai IV, the current Takahashi Rakusai V and his daughter Yoshiko who is also a potter.
(Photo by Tomoko Matsubayashi)

The last potter that we visited was Arakawa Satoshi, who fell in love with Shigaraki clay and relocated from far away Yamagata prefecture. I was especially excited to meet him because I had seen his beautiful work at the contemporary Japanese ceramics exhibit at the Mingei Museum in San Diego in 2012.

Shigaraki potter Arakawa Satoshi’s Anagama. In the last remodel, he increased the height of his chimney.
(Photos by Tomoko Matsubayashi)

As with many Shigaraki artist potters that fire Anagama, Arakawa-san designs and builds his own kiln. He excitedly showed us the improvements that he had made to the kiln and also the area in his backyard where some of the local clay can be found.

Arakawa-san makes beautiful large jars with spectacular fire colors, that were accepted by the Japan Kogei Association for two consecutive years. He also creates lovely table wares, especially sake wares.

Shigaraki sake cups and bottles by Arakawa Satoshi
(Photo by Tomoko Matsubayashi)

The visit to Shigaraki made me think about the interesting evolution that old Japanese pottery towns are going through. Many, if not most of them, look to make progress by improving efficiency at the high cost of discarding their local traditions and distinctiveness. Fortunately for many pottery towns like Shigaraki, influential visionaries have fought to continue the traditional ways that are deemed essential for making beautiful work that are distinctive to their local regions.

By sharing these brief stories of Kohara-san, the Takahashi family, and Arakawa-san, I hope to have piqued your curiosity into learning more about Shigaraki pottery. After all, our interest in Shigaraki ceramics is the best assurance for the preservation of its tradition.

—>> Visit photographer Tomoko Matsubayashi’s website to see more photos of Shigaraki.

Hanafuda: Japanese Culture Dealt in a Deck of Cards

March 12, 2014Research

Games that I played while growing up have a special place in my heart and none more so than the humble but elegant game of Hanafuda or flower cards. I loved competing with my grandparents in Hanafuda because the cards were visually stunning and mysteriously old-fashioned. Perhaps the biggest reason for my enthusiasm is that it is a game of chance rather than skill, and offered a rare opportunity to beat the grown ups.

Hanafuda consists of 48 cards in 12 suits. From left, pine (first month), plum blossoms (second month), cherry blossoms (third month), wisteria (fourth month), iris (fifth month), peony (sixth month), bush clover (seventh month), miscanthus grass (eighth month), chrysanthemum (ninth month), autumn leaves (tenth month), willow (eleventh month), and paulownia (twelfth month)

Hanafuda is a set of beautiful Japanese playing cards adorned with plants and animals that became hugely popular in the Edo (1603-1867) period. It is thought to have originated from cards introduced by the Portuguese to Japan in the 16^th century. In Japanese, card games are still referred to as Karuta (from the Portuguese word carta for cards) to this day.

Hanafuda is fascinating because the cards reveal many seasonal motifs and combination designs considered to be “harmonious” in Japanese culture. Similar motifs are portrayed in a wide range of crafts including ceramics, textiles and utensils used for tea ceremonies. So Hanafuda cards are helpful in identifying the elements in nature that are of important cultural value to the Japanese.

Examples of harmonious pairings found in Hanafuda cards.
From left: pine and crane; cherry blossoms and warbler; wistaria and cuckoo; and peony and butterfly.

A set of Hanafuda consists of 48 cards in 12 suits. Each suit represents a month of the year and the corresponding seasons (except for November/willow and December/paulownia). The decorations on the cards are visual representations of the seasonal and natural associations that were developed from Japanese classical poetry (Waka).

Old Japanese lidded soup bowl with lacquer depicting a harmonious pairing of peony and butterfly

For example, plum blossoms and the warbler for the second month’s suit is a major icon for the arrival of spring. The earliest reference to this pairing is found in the 7^th to 8^th century collection of Japanese poems called Manyoshu. “Like plum blossoms and warbler” is an expression used to mean a good relationship.

According to Haruo Shirane in his book “Japan and the Culture of the Four Seasons”, all the suits’ images -with the exception of peony- are from classical poetry dating from the Heian (794 to 1185) period, and reflect urban commoners’ knowledge of the poetic and cultural associations of the months. The tradition of interpreting the four seasons in this highly codified manner began in the Heian court-based culture and became the model of elegance that is called kacho fugetsu (flower and bird, wind and moon).

Wistaria and cuckoo pairing depicted in a vintage stencil. The stencil is from a collection at Saratetsu, yuzen furoshiki dyer in Tokyo.

The Edo pop culture is also reflected in the Hanafuda, most famously in the willow with calligrapher Ono-no-Tofu (894-966) card. The card portrays a well-known Japanese fable of Ono-no-Tofu and the frog. In this tale, young Tofu is taking a stroll by the stream in the rain when he notices a frog attempting to jump onto a branch of a willow tree. After failing many times, the frog succeeds and Tofu, inspired by the perseverance of the frog, worked harder and eventually became a noted calligrapher.

Around the time this willow and calligrapher design was born, a puppet drama known as Bunraku and later a Kabuki performance of Ono-no-Tofu Aoyagi Suzuri was performed that included a more politically inspired version of the Tofu and the frog fable. Many Ukiyoe prints were also produced with willow and Ono-no-Tofu themes.

The 4 cards in the willow suit. Willow with calligrapher card on the left and the mysterious rain and thunder card on the right.

Over four centuries, many regional designs and rules of Hanafuda cards came into existence. The most popular use of the cards was for gambling, so the authorities banned their use repeatedly because they viewed gambling as a vice that ultimately channeled money to criminal gangs. The last ban took place in the late Edo period, which was also around the same time that the current Hanafuda designs were perfected. This is why many mysteries still surround the origins of the designs of the cards.

For example, I could not find any convincing explanation as to what is portrayed in the odd looking “rain and lightning” card that is under the willow suit. It is odd that the willow and the swallow -which is a spring bird- are portrayed in the eleventh month, and paulownia that blooms in early summer was chosen for the twelfth month. In addition, one should bare in mind that craftspeople from the Edo period never seemed to do anything without some clever hidden meaning behind their work so the puzzle can be quite complex.

A deck of Nintendo Tengu Hanafuda. The Japanese characters on the paulownia card explain that the cards are made from a special process of wrapping a thick card with another piece of paper and applying the design on top. The tengu (a long-nosed mythical flying messenger of buddha) is depicted on the case and it is probably not a coincidence that the word nose is “hana” in Japanese.

Hanafuda is entertainment from the ages enjoyed widely by families throughout Japan, and interestingly, they also have connections with contemporary hi-tech entertainment. About 120 years ago, when the Meiji government lifted the ban on Hanafuda, an entrepreneur called Yamauchi Fusajiro opened a Hanafuda shop in Kyoto. His cards became so popular that the brand name of his cards, Nintendo, became synonymous with Hanafuda. Nintendo eventually evolved to become today’s famous video game giant. So we Japanese can proudly say that we have been playing Nintendo for more then a century.

In Pursuit of Beauty: The Meaning of Mingei and Yanagi Muneyoshi Through a Conversation with Matsui Takeshi of Tokyo University

July 9, 2013Mingei Research

This blog post was originally written for Studio KotoKoto

On a sunny summer morning, Studio Kotokoto (Ai in person and Kathryn in spirit) ventured to the leafy campus of Tokyo University to have a conversation about Mingei with one of Japan’s leading experts on the subject, Prof. Matsui Takeshi of Todai’s Institute for Advanced Studies on Asia.

The famous Akamon (red gate) and green campus of Tokyo University

Since Yanagi Muneyoshi (also known as Yanagi Soetsu) founded the Mingei movement almost 90 years ago, there has been fierce debate about what Mingei means and whether it is still relevant today.

We at Studio Kotokoto firmly believe that the spirit of Mingei is important and relevant to our lives today, which is why we have the word in our tagline. Mingei theory touches on the enriching and integral nature of craft to our lives, so it is as much about the users as it is about the makers. It is about recognizing the social and spiritual significance of bringing practical beauty into our homes.

Prof. Matsui has spent over 25 years studying the thinking and writings of Yanagi and the philosophy of Mingei. He wrote an excellent book on the subject entitled “Yanagi Muneyoshi and Mingei Today” (“Yanagi Muneyoshi to Mingei no Genzai” Tokyo; Yoshikawa Kobunkan, 2005).

On the left is the original 1972 copy of “The Unknown Craftsman” bound in mulberry bark paper. On the right is “Yanagi Muneyoshi and Mingei Today” by Prof. Matsui Takeshi, published in 2005.

Yanagi was a Japanese philosopher and aesthetician who lived in Japan from 1889 to 1961. With a circle of friends that included famous potters such as Hamada Shoji and Bernard Leach, Yanagi called on people to turn their eyes to the beauty of handmade utilitarian objects born out of the tradition of craftsmanship in cultures from around the world. For English speakers, a selection of Yanagi’s writings was translated in a book titled “The Unknown Craftsman” (Tokyo; Kodansha International Ltd.. 1972).

The appreciation of beauty in traditional crafts that are practical in use is the very core of Mingei aesthetics. Yanagi raised some very basic questions to get to the heart of the matter. What is beauty? Should art for enjoyment and craft for practical use be considered to have a different worth? Are craft inferior in value to art because it is spoilt by their practical nature?

Yanagi put forward a long list of criteria that he believed were the conditions for a beautiful object to be born. Some of the most discussed points include:

It possesses beauty that is identified with use.
It is made by hand.
It is simple, natural and healthy.
It is made by a community of uneducated anonymous craftsmen and is unsigned.
It is made in large numbers and is inexpensive.
It is representative of the tradition of its region.

To critics, these criteria are from another era and are too preservationist, unobtainable, and irrelevant in today’s world. Idekawa Naoki highlights many of the contradictions and problems of Yanagi’s theory in his book “Mingei -The Collapse of Theory and The Birth of Style” (“Mingei-Riron no Houkai to Yoshiki no Tanjyo” Tokyo; Shinchosha, 1998) .

An embroidered baby carrier by the Naxi, an ethnic minority in China’s Yunnan province. The mother or the maternal family makes this baby carrier with auspicious patterns that offer good wishes to the child. In appreciating the beauty of craft, Yanagi said that the word “use” should be interpreted to fulfill utility and also the mind.

So is Mingei nothing more than an outdated myth? If it is passé, should we disregard it and move on? Prof. Matsui’s perspective is that it is important to understand the circumstances in which Yanagi came up with his criteria. “Yanagi had an acute eye for beauty, and when he found a beautiful object, he was intrigued to find out how it was born. He absorbed himself into researching the background of the object to find out how that beautiful object came to life,” Prof. Matsui explained.

“Yanagi set those criteria because he found that beautiful objects seemed to be born under those conditions”, Prof. Matsui continued. “However, that is not to say that the object becomes beautiful just because it fulfills those conditions.” In other words, it is a one-way process that starts by looking at the material aspect of an item. The criteria is Yanagi’s attempt to theoretically explain how its beauty came about.

Professor Matsui Takeshi of Tokyo University is one of Japan’s most eminent Mingei experts

This also explains how Mingei as a retail term has developed a negative connotation in Japan. Mingei is often used to refer to the cheap and unsophisticated handmade objects made in large numbers that are found in souvenir shops in rural areas.

Prof. Matsui offered that the way to approach Mingei “is to first simply see beauty in objects and to dig deeper into the thoughts for the reasons of its beauty. That means for the users to see and the makers to create without the binds and restrictions set by our knowledge or experience.” It is the continuous process in which the users select beautiful objects, and the makers strive to improve their work. While many get caught up in the list of criteria for Mingei offered by Yanagi, his contributions are in the research and many inspiring thoughts found in the discussions and explanations of how he reached his conclusions.

Chinese baby carrier basket spotted in Kunming, Yunnan Province, in 2000. Lightweight and cool, these baskets are comfortable for the mother and the baby. These baskets are rarely seen in China now. Yanagi was apprehensive of the loss of beautiful traditional objects that were overlooked and unappreciated by the general public.

While Yanagi does not completely reject industrialization, his belief was that the beauty of craft reached its zenith in the pre-industrial era when people depended on handmade objects in their daily lives. Consequently, studying objects from the past helps in understanding the beauty that Yanagi discussed. “There are many things to be learned by looking at objects made by our predecessors. The users who study them develop better eyes and the makers who study them make better objects.” Prof. Matsui said.

An old, salt-glazed stoneware jug with cobalt embellishment made in New England by an unknown craftsman. Studying objects from the past will train our eyes to recognize the simple and pure beauty that Yanagi attempted to define.

In summing up Yanagi, Prof. Matsui said that “what Yanagi dedicated his life to considering, writing, and carrying out is essential to us now, as a wellspring of resources for creative thinking and constructive criticism towards our present way of life”. This is especially true for us at Studio Kotokoto. By studying Mingei, we have become better thinkers about reconsidering beauty in the context of our lives.

Meeting Prof. Matsui has invigorated our wish to continue the study of practical but beautiful objects, visiting their makers, and exploring the backgrounds of crafts and to continue to evolve our thinking. As the wise professor pointed out, the ultimate goal for students of Mingei is in the practice of seeing “to develop a better eye for beauty”, and this requires a lifelong journey of learning.

A Tour of the Pottery Towns of Southern Japan: Part II: Onta

May 7, 2013Ceramics Onta Mingei Travels Ontayaki

Ontayaki in Entoten shop ->

Tucked deep in the densely wooded mountains of Kyushu and 300 years away from the hectic pace of the modern world is the rustic village of Onta. Life here has changed little since Yanase San’emon arrived from Koishiwara, another renowned pottery center 16 miles west of Onta, at the beginning of the 18^th Century, to establish a distinctive way of making pottery known as Ontayaki that continues to be practiced by his descendants.

An Onta vase displaying brush patted slip marking or uchi-hakeme, and holding a cherry blossom.

The ten families that live today in Onta can trace their lineage to the three original founders of the Onta kiln in 1705. Besides Yanase, the other two clans are the Sakamoto and Kuroki. Each family passed their pottery knowledge and skills from fathers to sons while the mothers and daughters performed no less important supporting roles. This patrilineal practice has helped to preserve Onta’s original pottery-making techniques in its purest form despite three centuries of generational succession.

Ontayaki was unknown to the rest of Japan until Studio KotoKoto’s philosopher hero and father of the Mingei movement Yanagi Muneyoshi (Soetsu) visited Onta in 1931. He had to walk to the village on foot, as there were no proper roads connecting it with the outside world in his days. Yanagi was keen to go to Onta after first falling in love with the warm simple beauty of Ontayaki at a pottery shop in Fukuoka.

Toothpick holders with chatter marks or tobi-kanna sold at a shop in Onta.

Onta’s traditional way of life and simple approach to making pottery perfectly fitted Yanagi’s vision of Mingei. This was detailed in his book Hita no Sarayama about Onta that put the village on the map in Japan. The famous British potter Bernard Leach also resided in Onta during the 1950s and 1960s, and this broadened the village’s profile onto the global stage.

The people of Onta have taken this fame in their gentle stride. When I arrived in the village on a cold spring morning, I was welcomed by the noise of creaking wood that was followed by a heavy thud. This is the sound of kara-usu, the wooden clay-crushing device that operates like a seesaw and is powered by water from the Hanatsuki River that runs through the middle of the village.

These Kara-usu machines have regulated the pace of clay production in Onta for the last three centuries.

The rhythmic beat of the kara-usu is the reason why Onta has kept to its simple ways and avoided being swept up in the mass consumerism of the modern world. Each family in the village is only allowed two wheels in their workshops because of the slow and limited production of local clay from the kara-usu machines. This means that if a grandson is ready to take over a wheel, his grandfather has to retire to make way. This careful approach by the villagers to managing their land and strictly limiting the scale of output means that there will be plenty of clay left for future generations.

The Hanatsuki River powers the numerous kara-usu in Onta.

At one house, I witnessed a woman busy transferring wet elutriated clay from a trough to a clay-drying kiln. This confirmed what I had read elsewhere that the backbreaking daily work of clay preparation is the responsibility of the Onta women. So to the female readers of this blog, think twice about marrying that handsome potter from Onta because you will find yourself with a very physically demanding job for the rest of your lives. It is truly a revelation to see how much time, work, and space is needed to prepare the clay after seeing the kara-usu, the water pools that dissolve the clay, the clay troughs, and the clay drying kilns.

A woman loads the clay onto a wheel barrel.

Clay is transferred to the top of the clay drying kiln.

The wheel throwing method used in Onta and Koishiwara is strikingly different from the approach that I and many other potters are most familiar with. Instead of starting by centering enough clay to form the entire form, a ball of clay is patted and centered to build the bottom. Coiled clay is subsequently added on top to build the rest of the pot.

This method is called neritsuke and is a hybrid form of wheel throwing and coil building. This technique is said to be only possible because of the mastery of the potter to control the speed of the kick wheel. To watch how this is done, here is a link to a YouTube video of a young Onta potter, Sakamoto So, who is throwing plates and applying uchi-hakeme, which is a brush patted slip marking.

Ontayaki mortar from the father and son kiln of Sakamoto Takumi and So with an example of finger marking or yubikaki.

Onta clay is very smooth with a beautiful brownish yellow color that fires to dark brown because of a high iron content. Together with the slip that fires to light cream white, Ontayaki is ideal tableware as it brings out the color of food on the table.

Onta-ware has several distinct decorative styles that includes the chatter marking or tobi-kanna, uchi-hakeme, and the dynamic finger marking or yubi-kaki. These styles can also be found in the sister kiln of Koishiwara.

Ontayaki on the left and Koishiwarayaki on the right. The two villages share many decorative styles.

My visit to Onta was a deeply profound and eye-opening experience. More than 80 years have passed since Yanagi first went to Onta and far fewer people in today’s mass consumer society are using handmade products than when Yanagi made his pilgrimage to the village. Despite the enormous social, cultural, and economic changes that have occurred during these intervening years, Onta has never succumbed to the enticements of mass consumerism. And because the village’s residents have stood so fervently behind their age-old principles of sustainability and balanced moderation, Onta has thrived.

Ai spies some early works by the next generation of Onta potters.

A key lesson that I take away from Onta is that as long as there is a community of people who understand and cherish the importance of handmade in their everyday life, this tradition will survive and live on in future generations. This is also the essence of what we at Studio Kotokoto are seeking to build, although through the application of modern day tools including the Internet rather than from a remote corner of Japan.

My pottery tour will continue in my future blog.

April 2020
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