It is the last day of the '00's (the Naughties), and tomorrows newspaper arrived this after noon. If only I had access to the stock exchange!
Christmas has come once again, reminding us how important our family and loved ones are to us. This December we have spent a great deal of time going to doctors for Sean (4), who has been fighting pneumonia. Last week he was given a clear bill of health, only to have been diagnosed with Influenza today. We are praying that Santa Claus will bring him a quick recovery.
In the time between I have been trying to fill orders and have managed to deliver them in time for Christmas. Of course the kiln can't be fired unless it is completely full, so to fill the kiln I made these 300 beer cups as well as the orders.
There are teabowls in Japanese history (which still exist as national treasures or in private collections) which were valued so highly that they were worth the lives of a thousand men, or a castle and it grounds. They were treasures, and therefore were treated as such. They were wrapped in cloth, beautiful bags were made for them, they were stored in boxes made to measure, signed by the maker or the tea master. The boxes themselves, having been signed by a great master, would be treasures in and of themselves, and so another box would sometimes be made to protect the first box. Thus there are some great bowls which have several boxes within boxes to protect them.
The boxes are made from paulownia wood, which is a fine straight grained softwood, resistant to rotting and doesn't burn easily. This makes it ideal for protecting tea ware. The boxes are made with slots in the base to thread cords through so that they can be tied closed.
Japanese is, of course, my second language, so reading and writing do not come as naturally to me as English. Signing boxes can be somewhat of a challenge, as the characters are written in "Sumi" (charcoal) ink with a brush, and cannot be erased. You get one shot. I used to practice on paper for an hour before signing boxes, but I am much more comfortable with it now. It is important to have the ink at the right viscosity, as if it is too thin it will bleed into the wood grain, too thick and it won't flow, a piece of advice that Shimaoka sensei gave me. I grind the ink in a stone ink tray to get the consistency right before I start.
In the bottom left corner is my "Hanko", my stamp. This is once again my Japanese Kanji, and it was carved out of stone by a friend in Utsunomiya. The stamp ink, called "Shuuniku", is very thick, rather like printers ink, and needs the be worked with the ivory spatula before it is used.
Sora, my daughter, turned twelve last month. I baked her a cake, Mika decorated it, and we all sang happy birthday as we have for the last twelve years. She is now in year 6 at primary school, and every year the grade sixers at our local school get a chance to learn how to cook a five course dinner, taught by a professional chef.
Today the children prepared a meal for their parents, dividing into five groups, each group responsible for a separate course. They then prepared the meal from scratch for a total of sixty people, students and parents, and the parents were allowed to watch, but not interfere!
Of course the meal needed plates, and each child had to take dishes from home, so over the weekend Sora selected out some of my vessels for the meal. I watched, as the children cooked under Otowa chefs guidance, biting my tongue. The other parents shared this new spectator status, wanting to help, advise...but we must merely watch and wait.
I set up a small photo space on the window ledge, and as each course was served I photographed it just as they served it!
The art of living is a very simple thing. It is about recognising the beauty in our everyday lives, appreciating the miracle of it, and sharing it with those we love. Modern life and social pressures tend to inure us to the quiet, intimate beauty around us, but if we take a moment to catch our breath, there is joy to be had in even the simplest of things. The turning of the seasons, the light from the kitchen window, the fragrance of salmon baking in the oven.
Autumn is in full swing. The trees are shedding leaves in flurries of amber and gold, the days are shortening and the evenings are cold enough to need the wood stove. The rice harvest is done, and we have new rice from Mika's parents paddies, grown with pure spring water and no chemicals. We have picked the last of the capsicums and the first frost has withered the plants.
Yesterday our neighbour brought us a salmon which he caught in the Nakagawa river during the afternoon. The Salmon run up the river every autumn to spawn, searching for their own birth place to lay their eggs. Our neighbour is licenced to fish a limited number every year, and brings us a few over the period. We give them vessels from the kiln in return.
I followed Mika's recipe, pouring 70 degrees hot water into the bowl with the roe and separating the roe from the sacks. I then rinsed the roe several times in cold water before putting it into the fridge to chill. Once chilled I added a mixture of 6 tablespoons of Soy Sauce, 2 tablespoons of Sake and 2 tablespoons of Mirin, and then left it in the fridge overnight.
Fourteen potters, artists and art educators gathered last weekend in mashiko for the tenth World Art Educators Workshop. Fujiwara Ikuzo, the premiere mural and architectural potter of Japan was the presenter of the workshop, and played host to us in his own studio here in Mashiko. It was a brilliant experience for everyone, and far more than I can put into words here (particularly considering I am writing this during the Mashiko Pottery Festival...no rest for the wicked!)
For me personally it was a chance to understand the philosophical and religious basis for his sculptural work. Translating and interpreting depends on my understanding the original expression, then re-expressing it so that others can understand it. As Leonardo Da Vinci said; If you can't explain it, you don't understand it. Hopefully, everyone came away with a greater understanding of Fujiwara san and the Japanese culture.
Yesterday saw the end of my exhibition at Mitsukoshi. Thanks to all of my guests throughout the exhibition for your support. I was very touched by the gifts I received. It was great experience and I would like to thank everybody involved in the exhibition, its preparation and successful execution. In particular Hashimoto san was fantastic, both in his cooperation at the design stage and the fantastic food he served throughout the exhibition and also the wonderful demonstrations that he did with me at the talk shows at Mitsukoshi on the 10th.
The demonstrations were packed, with all the seats taken and folks standing up at the back. I've never been comfortable with a microphone, but Hashimoto san was provided the only clip on which left his hands free. After an introduction by the Mitsukoshi MC, I gave a talk about the aesthetic and technical aspects of my work, about why I became a potter and about the food and pottery collaboration. Hashimoto san then gave a demonstration and a talk about how best to serve food on my vessels, the principles of composition and the importance of emphasising the season, and balance in flavours, textures and colours. It was a fascinating and educational experience for everyone.
Traditional Japanese architecture is a study in light and shade. Shoji screens that allow diffused light to enter a room, light filtering through the "Ran Ma" screens above the walls, light reflected off the tatami floors. These Ran Ma also allow a flow of air between rooms, helping to prevent mold and ventilate the rooms.
There is no glue used in making this screen, the component parts having been cut by hand with impeccable precision. There was a pride in the creation of these works, made by unknown artisans. It was not about fame or wealth, though reputation brought work, and work brought income. It was about the beauty of the every day, and creating beautiful spaces in which to live, and finding value in living every day.
The light changes with the seasons, and the symbols of nature were used as themes in the architecture. These clerestory screens have sprigs of pine needles incorporated in the lattice. It was beautiful waking in the morning to the soft autumn luminescence, and the view of the leaves changing across the mountains beyond the hand made glass of the engawa. I look forward to returning again next year.
The curtain is up! My exhibition at Mitsukoshi Department store started yesterday, as did the "Euan Kaiseki" course at Kappo Toyoda. It has been a very hard schedule to make up time after the fever, but it all worked out and opened successfully!
The full course "Kaiseki" menu at Toyoda is amazing (as always)! This really is the culmination of years of collaboration between Hashimoto san and I, and the new works come to life with the cuisine. The pinnacle must be this "Usuzukuri" sashimi plate with chattering and a celadon glaze. The interaction between the lace like translucency of the sashimi and the chattering is just magic.
Today I went to the park with my family. Canaan, who is 10, had arranged to meet his school friends there, so we all went. I am recuperating from a bout of Tonsillitis and a week long fever of 40°C, so I sat under a tree with Omar and read a little while I watched them play. Sora gathered horse chestnuts, Rohan and Sean played by the creek with Mika keeping careful watch.
Funny thing, Tradition. All it really is is a system of passing on successful methods of survival. The conditions of nature that we live in haven't changed significantly for 10,000 years, let's call it 400 generations. There will inevitably be typhoons, earthquakes, torrential rain, forest fires, and all manner of natural events. Eventually someone realizes it's not very bright to build a house of grass balanced on a couple of round rocks on the banks of a river amid the tall rushes. So they build a house with heavy interlocking beams on a firm foundation of stone on the high ground with a safe space around it for the kids to play. This knowledge, and the skills to make it practical, are taught to the children, though they may not themselves have experienced any of those disasters in their lifetime. It becomes Tradition. Trees are planted that will mature into enough good timber to build a new house when the old one is no longer safe.
With the passing of the generations, innovations are made, new ideas, materials and methods, which improve the chances of survival, improve the quality of life. They then are added to or replace the Tradition. Even something as simple as a cup of coffee is the result of this process. You can't always guarantee that your drinking water is safe, and even today there are large numbers of the human population throughout the world who suffer from a lack of this basic necessity. Someone realises that if you boil it before you drink it you don't get sick, you survive, and that becomes tradition. 
But if you let it cool and leave it in the open air and sunlight for too long it goes bad again, so we'd better drink it while it's hot. Hot water on it's own doesn't taste that good, but someone discovers these leaves, or those berries, make it taste and smell much nicer, and they seem to make you feel even better than just water alone! Welcome, Tea and Coffee! This too becomes a new and ever evolving Tradition.
My innovation is to spring them from the rim of the pot, making the join over the inside and outside, thus spreading the contact surface and making the join stronger. The high handle also lowers the centre of gravity, so that no matter how much is in the cup it is comfortable to hold. The forces of nature dictate the curve.
For me there is a responsibility that comes with the making of things. That they be safe, that they perform well the function for which they were created, and that they are beautiful. They need to be real, firmly grounded in human needs, and created in a way that does not cause harm to this environment upon which we and our children depend for survival. If they succeed in this they will stand the test of time and enrich the lives of those generations yet to come, standing beside other such works from the artists of the past . So, unlike the unknown craftsmen, I sign my work inside the foot ring by combing my initials, EC, and then stamp my logo mark on the outside of the foot ring, with a bulls head stamp. This tells that I made this work in the year of the bull. 
I have always made it a point to use only natural and safe materials when producing my work. There are no toxic materials in my clay, glazes or firing process. No Lead, No Barium, nothing toxic. Particularly considering that my studio is next to my children's bedroom!
