Across the cobblestones

The Autumn days flow gently towards Winter, and the mulberry leaves fall in a slow moving wave as the morning sun washes across the grove, melting the frost which has briefly held them in place and casting them into the breeze. The white eyelash of a crescent moon fades into a pale blue sky. I am warm by the wood stove, the logs crackling merrily as the kettle sings, and beyond the window the voices of birds twittering in the garden form tiny puffs of steam in the icy air. I wave to Mika as she drives off to work, the car bouncing over the cobblestones. I lean closer to the window so that she can see my face, but my breath fogs up the glass.

“Each breathe exhaled a drop of rain.” That’s what my friend Robert said…

What a deeply profound a beautiful thought. Clouds of water vapour condensing in the atmosphere and returning to the earth as rain, and every breath we exhale contains enough water vapour to form a single drop. Our very breath intertwined with the turning of the seasons, each of us the consciousness of nature aware of the wonder of itself. 

It is easy to forget that we are an integral part of the natural world when modern industrial society separates us so. I recently spent a week in Tokyo, where you cannot see the stars or the moon, and the only sunlight to reach you is reflected off the mirrored glass of skyscrapers all around. Stores where there are no windows, where the air is pumped through machines. The glare of artificial light makes your eyes sting, the cacophonic blare of duelling piped music and advertising rhetoric buzz painfully in your ears, and the miasma of competing artificial fragrances from the cosmetic counters and the milling crowd makes you feel nauseous. There are no staff to greet you, you select your purchases alone, and take them to a self serve cash register where an emotionless electronic voice rasps instructions.

“Put your money in now,” she drones. 

I take some notes from my wallet and try to feed them into the mouth of the machine.

“Put your money in now,” she drones, and spits the note back out. I unfold the corner and feed it back in, then try to find the right coinage to finish the transaction.

“Put your money in now,” she drones.

“Just wait a sec, I’m trying to get the right change.” I say to her as I rummage in my wallet.

“Put your money in now,” she drones.

“Hang on, hang on!” I say, getting more flustered by the moment.

“Put your money in now,” she drones. 

I don’t have exact change, but close, so I pour the coins into the hopper. 

A few coins rattle into the tray. She spits a receipt at me.

“Take care not to forget your change and receipt.” she rasps.

I take the coins from the tray…

“Take care not to forget your change and receipt.” she rasps. An electronic bell starts to ring because I am too slow…

“Yes, yes!” I say as I put the coins into my wallet. I reach out to take the receipt…

“Take care not to forget your change and receipt.” she rasps.

“Don’t be so bloody impatient!” I say as I take the receipt from her mouth.

The bell finally stops.

“Thank you for your custom.” she simpers, then falls silent as she waits for her next victim.

Out on the streets is the constant rumble of cars and trucks and construction sites, the reek of exhaust fumes, asphalt and sewerage. The days are grey and the nights are bright, and it is never quiet, and it is never dark…and it is not just the homeless, huddled under cardboard boxes in the corners of the bridge who are alone, we are all separated from each other and our greater selves, treated like machines by machines, like cogs in the industrial mill…

Faceless… 

Replaceable… 

Now that I am home in Minakami, however, back on my side of the cobblestones, I feel human again. I have been sorting my pots from the last firing for exhibitions over the next few months, and each vessel is a unique revelation. The plates this time are particularly exciting, the poured stripes of blue-green Sasa glaze breaking into subtle pinks, against the flashed salmon body, with twisting tendrils of Igusa Hidasuki rush marks over the soft spiral throwing rings. I’m sure that they would be wonderful mounted on a wall, but how much more splendid when serving food to nourish the mind and body! As I sort through the pots, they suggest meals that they would love to have served on them, so I select a couple of plates and invite them to dinner.

Yes, every piece has been made by my own hands, but I have not been alone in the process, because the forces of nature have been my collaborators. A potter’s task is not to enslave the clay and force it to their will, but to discover the potential of the clay and guide it into a new form. Knowing when to apply your skills and when to step back and allow nature to run its course; to be still and let the clay flow through your fingers until it finds its shape; to understand the living flame of the kiln and feed it when it is hungry and give it space to breathe; this is what is to be a potter. And every pot is a discovery and an expression of the beauty of nature, not as a separate thing, but as a realisation of your self as part of the biosphere. 

Our home is surrounded by rice paddies, orchards and farms, and beyond them forested mountains marching away to snowy peaks. With a large cloth bag which my friend Kumon-san made for me, I walk the ten minutes to the local farmer’s market. I greet the neighbours as I pass; Kawai-san and Honda-san with their helpers packing boxes of apples; Fuu-chan putting out the flags in front of their noodle stand. There is a chill breeze blowing down from the Mikuni Pass, and a hawk is riding it in slow circles over the fields, hunting for the small animals that move through the stubble, nibbling on the remains of the harvest.

At the market I fill my basket with a variety of local produce, leafy Daikon and Komatsuna from Kitano-san, Honda Kazuko-san’s Yuzu, Garlic from Umezawa-san, Tomozawa-san’s Chilli Pepper, Ukon powder (turmeric) from Harasawa-san, and some Shiitake from Tsukiyono. 

“Good morning.” says the lady at the counter as I put my basket of goodies down.

“Good morning!” I reply, “Wasn’t that wind cold this morning?” I hang my empty bag over the edge of the basket as she begins passing the produce through the checkout.

“Yes, indeed! But it’s brought out the Autumn colours on the mountains beautifully!”

“They’re spectacular, aren’t they?” I say as I open my wallet and start sorting through my coins.

“That’ll be ¥2,744, thanks.” 

I put a ten-thousand yen note in the tray, “Just a sec, I may have the right change.”

She waits patiently as I fat fingeredly fumble around trying to get the exact coinage. “Close!” I exclaim, pouring a fifty yen coin and four ones into the tray.

She smiles as she gives me my change, and we exchange our thanks as I put it away, then I pack my groceries into my cloth bag, slide the empty basket into it’s rack, give her a smile and wave as I leave the market. On the way home I get a bag of apples from Honda-san, with a friendly little chat that follows a similar pattern. She pops a few extra scarred apples into the bag.

“Oh, thanks!” I say. “Say ‘Hi’ to your dad for me!”

I’ll take them a small jar of Apple Chutney later.

The hawk swoops into a dry rice paddy as I pass, rising again moments later with something small and struggling in its talons. It must be dinner time…

A home cooked meal is an intimate way of saying, “I love you.” The hand crafted vessel adds the art of nature to the everyday, and enriches the life of those who serve and those who are served. Every aspect of my life is interwoven in the creation of these works, and I am blessed to be able to share this beauty with the people I love. 

  

I wash some rice and put it in the suihanki with some ukon to cook while I prepare dinner on the wood stove. A bit of olive oil in the frypan, some garlic, ginger and chilli pepper. Onion that Mika’s father grew, some mince meat from the freezer, the green leaves from the daikon, red capsicum, apple, cumin, coriander, cloves, and cinnamon. Finally I add home made yoghurt and leave it to simmer down until it is thick, while I go and light the wood fired bath.

Mika comes home to a house full of the fragrance of spices and wood smoke, and I serve the Curry onto a bed of Turmeric Rice in my new plates. We share a goblet of white wine as we dine, and she regales about her adventures at the library. In a book it would probably say that I hang upon her every word…but that’s not quite the way it is. It is good to listen to someone that you love speak honestly and openly about all their thoughts and feelings, knowing how cathartic it can be, yourself, when someone whom you love and trust listens sincerely. Her story winds down about halfway through the second cup of wine.

“How was your day?” She asks.

I smile…

The New Dragon

 

The Dragon slid quietly over the misty horizon as the Hare fled into the west, and a cold grey dawn marked the turning of the year...

A dragon saw our first new year in this house twelve years ago, and on new year's day I made the new stamp for this year's vessels. It is a smaller dragon than the last, and faces left instead of right, and so an imprint in the clay becomes a footstep in the sands of time. The dark cherry wood gleamed as I rubbed olive oil into its grain, beautiful in and of itself, as each step of any creative process should be...

It was a good day, a day of sharing with my family, a day to celebrate thirty years of marriage with my wife, and all the joy and sorrow on our journey together. But as the evening drew near, and I prepared to light the wood to heat the bath, the house began to shake...

The earthquake was long, and we waited outside till the house stopped swaying and the ground beneath our feet stopped moving. It was not so strong here, only a four perhaps, enough to knock a few things over, shake open the doors and open a few new cracks in the plaster walls, but it brought back memories of the destruction of 3/11 for us all. But we learned that others were not so fortunate, and, in the days since, the devastation in Ishikawa has become apparent. One friend in Wajima, a lacquerware artist, has lost everything, home and studio, and only has the clothes she stands up in, but gratefully neither she nor her husband were injured. I don't know how we can help her yet...

Our experiences of each day are unique to each of us, joy for some, tragedy for others, and it is hard to celebrate our personal triumphs in the face of other's suffering...yet it is these simple things which are important, even in difficult times, perhaps most of all then. In everything we make, in everything we do, we leave a little of ourselves. And our experiences, our moments of joy and beauty, become moments of joy and beauty for others. It is a journey that we take together.

Preparations for Christmas dinner begin weeks before the day. Cutting up dried fruit, grating carrots and apples and lemon rind, steeping them in brandy for the pudding...

...mixing the eggs and butter, brown sugar and flour, spices and bread crumbs, and the well matured fruit. Giving everyone in the house a stir to make a wish...

...steaming the pudding for hours on the wood stove, then letting it rest and mature...

...stuffing the poultry, trussing the roasts, making the sauces. Hours of baking and roasting and steaming and simmering...

...making the Christmas Crackers, finding the treats and thinking of the riddles to go inside...

...and then we all gather for the feast! With toasts in Brandy Alexanders, Champagne in pottery chalices, and the courses all served on plates and bowls which I have made throughout the year. Everyone and everything comes together for this wonderful festive fare!

 

We take a break after our main course to exchange the presents from beneath the tree, then return for the final course; The Pudding!

It has steamed again for hours. I turn it out, piping hot, from the pudding basin out onto a platter, then pour a little warm brandy over it and turn off the lights. I strike a match to it, and we watch as the blue flames dance and vanish into the darkness. 

Served with antique silver coins hidden inside, and a sweet béchamel brandy sauce, the Pudding brings Christmas Dinner to a delicious close...

 

...and the house is quiet now. Christmas; Eve and Day, and Boxing Day are done. The family has dispersed. The flames have danced and disappeared into the dark, and the cold days and nights of winter lay ahead. Time, now, for me to cut some fire wood. New year and Hogmanay will soon be upon us! 

#christmasdinner

 

ALL THAT GLITTERS IS NOT GOLD...

There is a golden lustrous surface quality to much of my work which is almost impossible to capture properly in photographs. It is not an applied glaze or metallic lustre, it is a natural effect of the 1320c reduction wood firing process on my porcelaneous stoneware blend. 

"Reduction" gets it's name from the chemical change that occurs when a reactive element like Carbon (C) steals Oxygen (O) atoms from metallic oxides, like Red Iron Oxide (Fe2O3), to make CO2 molecules, thus "Reducing" the amount of Oxygen in proportion to Iron and forming molecules of Black Iron Oxide (Fe3O4) or even further to (FeO), and eventually to the pure metal (Fe). 

This is the same process by which metals are smelted. 

For the purpose of pottery, this chemical change results in colour reactions like those of Tenmoku and Celadon Iron glazes and Copper Red glazes in reduction firings. But it also causes the golden lustrous surfaces on some Shino glazes, where Iron which is present below the glaze migrates to the surface under heavy reduction. I suspect that this is similar to what is happening in my firing, though there has been no surface treatment, no glazes, no slips, just the Tatami rushes and the wood ash and gaseous fluxes coming into the kiln with the flame from the fire boxes...

Wood firing is capricious and serendipitous, and therein lies its unique and unassuming beauty, variety and charm.

TINY ACORNS

  TINY ACORNS...

There are many reasons why potters fire with wood, but it is as much an ethical decision as an aesthetic one for me. I committed myself to a lifelong career as a potter from age 14, working part time in potteries while pursuing a full time education in ceramics, learning to fire in a variety of electric, gas, oil and wood kilns. In my final year of university the issue of climate change first arose at the Australian National Potters Conference in Melbourne in 1985. I was shocked to discover that human activity was affecting the global climate, and that the effects could become catastrophic within just one or two generations! As a potter making vessels which potentially last for hundreds if not thousands of years, what unforgivable irony would it be if the pollution from my making process meant that those vessels would outlast humanity? I have since striven to eliminate fossil fuels from my life, which meant that firstly that I needed to find a way of firing pots with renewable energy.

Fossil fuels add carbon to the atmosphere which hasn’t been there since before our species evolved. Carbon from wood, however, is sequestered from the air by trees during this era. As long as the amount of trees growing equals or exceeds the amount being burnt there should be no carbon footprint from the firing process!

Of course, traditional wood kilns are notoriously labour and resource intensive, and hardly a one man job! The five chamber Noborigama at Shimaoka Tatsuzo’s pottery, where I did my apprenticeship in Mashiko in 1991, took three days and ten tonnes of red pine to fire, and the labour of at least nine people. Other potters I know have Anagama kilns which fire for a week and require twenty-five tonnes of wood! There are effects which are achieved with these firings which justify the process, but sustainability is difficult, whether in terms of environmental factors, financial cost or man power.

So in 1994, when I finally had my own pottery in Mashiko, I spent a year developing a fast fire wood kiln which was big enough for a professional pottery studio practice, but practical for one person to fire in one day.

At one cubic meter stacking space it will hold about 400 Coffee Mugs or Yunomi sized pots, and uses 400kg of wood to fire from raw to cone 12 in 14 hours. This efficiency makes it practical for me to fire, economically and physically, but also reduces my carbon footprint. This does not equal sustainability, however, unless an equivalent amount of trees is being planted to offset the amount being burnt.

The town in which I now live, Minakami in Gunma Prefecture, Japan, is a Unesco Biosphere Reserve. We are striving to become a model for how human society can interact sustainably with the natural environment. The Akaya Project here is working to restore the natural forest habitat to encourage biodiversity. Its focus is the Inuwashi eagle, the largest eagle in Japan, which is an endangered species.

 To ensure the survival of the species, the natural habitat needs to be returned to its original state, which includes removing conifer plantations and replacing them with forests of the local native deciduous varieties. Deciduous trees provide acorns and nuts which feed the other species of wildlife which the eagles depend upon for prey.

The plantations are being harvested as part of the Japanese Environment Department's "Yama sato kawa umi" (Mountain Village River Sea) project, and the fire wood which I use in my kiln and home is provided by a local certified member of this project. It is also tested for radioactive materials from the fallout of the Fukushima nuclear disaster, so that theForestry Department can create a detailed map of contamination, and in my area there is no detectable pollution. This is not true for all parts of Japan, but that is another story...

Locally grown native seedlings are being planted to replace the harvested conifer plantations, with the support of the Nature Conservation Society of Japan. My family and I are volunteers assisting with the replanting.

People from around Japan can sponsor the project, allowing those from urban areas to be involved in supporting the natural environment.

This project gives me the opportunity to complete the cycle, replanting the forest which provides the fuel for my kiln and my home. As a potter, I feel the importance of taking responsibility for the consequences of my making process, and of encouraging others in my profession to adopt sustainable work practices. And though it may seem to be a small and insignificant action when viewed in isolation, it is another step towards a carbon neutral future, carbon drawdown and sustainability, and it is a road that we must all walk together.

Mountain High, Water Deep

I cannot tell the story of other's lives, for I only know the outlines, the broad strokes, glimpses of details, a little light, a little shadow. If I told the story it would be coloured be my own experiences, embellished with my own imaginings, filtered through my eyes and without the resolution of their true highs and lows. The more words I pour in to try to fill the gap, the wider it becomes.  

But a deshi, a disciple, must be his masters hands, his strong back, and the bearer of his flame. Then he must be his own. 

There is only one story I truly know, and it is written in the clay, my book of pots. After all, the writing was on the wall, and the deeper the water, the higher the mountain...

Featured on the official media of the Government of Japan

 It is a rare honour to be featured on the official Facebook page and Twitter of the Government of Japan. My thanks to the Office of the Prime Minister for the kind invitation!

The legacy of Mashiko ware, Edo-era (1603 - 1867) pottery rooted in the clay-rich town of Mashiko, Tochigi, endures today in the work of Australian potter Euan Craig! His university study of Japanese ceramics and folk-art movements so deeply impressed Craig that, after running a pottery in Australia, he moved to Mashiko in 1990 and trained under a master; he started his own studio just 4 years later. Whether continuing his activities in Mashiko or working from his new studio in the town of Minakami, Gunma, Craig still creates simple and practical pottery embodying the concept of beauty in utility.

https://euancraig.blogspot.com/

#LandOfDiversity

#Tochigi