Japan
Last Updated on Thursday, 24 March 2011 21:10
Karaoke and clay
My trip to Japan in 2007 started as I flew in to Centrair, the artificial airport island built in the Aichi prefecture, about 170 miles southwest of Tokyo and about ten minutes by train to Tokoname. It is a new and incredibly modern airport in every way, epitomising the way Japan seems to be moving at an unbelievable pace into the 21st century. Its most interesting feature was the massive ceramic wall and porcelain ball sculptures by Yoshikawa Masamichi on the lower floors.
Yoshikawa Masamichi and his wife Yoshikawa Chikako both live and work in Tokoname where the workshop I was attending for 6 weeks was based. Yoshikawa Masamichi‘s work is characterised by architectural forms with carved planes which sometimes include incised lines filled with cobalt. The pieces are finished in a beautiful dripping pale blue seihakuji glaze. Yoshikawa Chikako, makes a quantity of simple domestic ware but her work contains a lot of figurative sculpture, such as bizarre doll-like figures in brightly coloured costumes from life-size to smaller versions in more sedate colouring.
The couple were very generous in asking all ten of the international artists on the workshop around for tea. A fellow student spotted a huge dish that Yoshikawa Chikako had made with a handle that comprised a fierce but beautiful Japanese dragon. Using the pale blue seihakuji glaze to great effect, Yoshikawa Chikako had combined these two ways of working in a really stunning piece. We were made very welcome and were invited to look round the room where they stored all their finished work. This was a magical space with loaded shelves stacked with pieces that reminded you of the inexhaustible possibilities of clay, its only boundary being the human imagination.
Inexhaustible possibilities were also encapsulated in the work of another Tokoname ceramic artist Koie Ryõji. If you are not familiar with his work there are several interviews on the web which are worth a read, suffice to say a supper invitation to his house was a great memory. His remarkable wife produced, effortlessly, plate after plate of wonderfully delectable Japanese dishes from a seemingly tiny kitchen. I really like Japanese table ware and had once read that the “vessel is not considered finished until the food is upon it.” Heavily textured brown dishes suddenly became a perfect backdrop for the rich pink prawns and dark green seaweed-wrapped sushi: sticky white rice and squashy brown noodles a soft contrast to the rich temmoku glazed bowls.
Koie Ryõji became ever more exuberant, his tipple being a gradually decreasing bottle of whisky. His work, unpredictable, exuberant and impulsive is much sought after in Japan. One jar, given pride of place in the local gallery, had seemingly spontaneous gashes scoring the surface; these merged with random drips and richly pooled glazes which ran over the piece. The jar exuded all the energy and vigour of its maker. Koie Ryõji appeared to enjoy our visit, unimpressed with his notoriety; he was unequivocal in passing on his belief that less control and more feeling is the key to a truly great piece of work.
Notions of control and letting go seem to be a fundamental part of appreciating Japanese culture. This became most apparent to me at a Karaoke night our hosts had arranged for us. As the night wore on, with the odd beer along the way, one or two of the friendly, but politely distant team of helpers we had known for two weeks got up on the stage and unmistakably let go. The more they threw themselves around and the more poorly they sang along to the Beatles, the more the audience appreciated them. It was if they had unexpectedly been given a channel to let out all those frustrations and feelings held in check so politely and they gave themselves whole-heartedly to the moment.
The next morning all returned to normal as is it had never happened. You could argue that this is essentially no different from a group of English potters going to the pub, but it seemed poles apart to me because of the extreme nature of both the control and the letting go. We seem to express ourselves very differently both in our art and our everyday lives. My everyday life seems a lot less restrictive in its unspoken rules than say my host’s in Japan, but I wouldn’t be able to relinquish control enough go to a Karaoke night and sing my heart out either. Maybe this is what Koie Ryõji was trying to explain and why some of the Japanese ceramics I looked at did seem exciting, more experimental and more intense.
The other highlight of the trip for me was firing the wood kiln. This was the first time I had done any wood firing and I can see why people get hooked. You are much more involved with the process and even though it was hard work and unbelievably hot and humid, it was really great fun. The night shift was my favourite. Despite mosquitoes and some horrendous large black beetles, the frenetic activity of packing slowed to a calmer more methodical way of working. We talked a lot with our Japanese assistant who was very in tune with the kiln and how it responded to the weather, the different wood and its team of handlers. It was exciting to open the kiln and see what worked and what didn’t. Even if it’s not your thing I would recommend any potter having a go at wood firing if the opportunity ever comes up.