tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89411168477299954572024-03-06T07:20:30.799+09:00Euan The PotterBorn in Australia, Made in JapanEuan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.comBlogger202125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-71355868021350100772024-01-17T05:54:00.001+09:002024-01-17T05:55:50.721+09:00The New Dragon<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;">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...</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">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...</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">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...</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">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...</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">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.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgFaj7JokQ35q55nKaIfXdLw3px5HXLCF0BdOkg_YwzcqzySBulRHL4M4eOvYrJjBnqlp_y1sf6BW09mCQS14SSmP_L44Bzky10IHWJzYIrlmpZ4U8Y2Jh2qsGR2Sh5g0ChKWxgdEGEtUmZnwvjJVwspqVd4W8yEj-MsXZ1d_i_u9bGPmBriw9o7mb2e3I/s2448/IMG_1452.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgFaj7JokQ35q55nKaIfXdLw3px5HXLCF0BdOkg_YwzcqzySBulRHL4M4eOvYrJjBnqlp_y1sf6BW09mCQS14SSmP_L44Bzky10IHWJzYIrlmpZ4U8Y2Jh2qsGR2Sh5g0ChKWxgdEGEtUmZnwvjJVwspqVd4W8yEj-MsXZ1d_i_u9bGPmBriw9o7mb2e3I/s320/IMG_1452.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkPG7og9aWAerq9YPuoraVjs4eb1P3sla-Q3pFMJZA-YFVKLhWnL3XCrCNqJOWcFnApTUABVNtb810yR5LHPCjV-t3ro9Q7PHxiRrCQZZySvQJ_le2ccGxzCqCBrg7-4GOwjtou6GUVSU8lfub0KtC0VBJlXRpNoZdANIQKRwr2OZis0s9qpZ_yJap5zzt/s4272/IMG_9117.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4272" data-original-width="2848" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkPG7og9aWAerq9YPuoraVjs4eb1P3sla-Q3pFMJZA-YFVKLhWnL3XCrCNqJOWcFnApTUABVNtb810yR5LHPCjV-t3ro9Q7PHxiRrCQZZySvQJ_le2ccGxzCqCBrg7-4GOwjtou6GUVSU8lfub0KtC0VBJlXRpNoZdANIQKRwr2OZis0s9qpZ_yJap5zzt/s320/IMG_9117.jpeg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA1svU9nyG4KFqvhY5kon6DMl4jH4cHFDaveWOTsgPbykiH1tffV5Ofo_ZDd7clIGPao8rvLXfpimXe68IRHooEYL69BBCzliI42rS4edOdbYwSUePyG3E8qqghUFAsJdEB3jxGANEn-WTJPNqUpbgCdniEzu9lYRjdNJEXoJYeBjSgPro3nf8_mXY58sP/s4272/IMG_9118.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4272" data-original-width="2848" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA1svU9nyG4KFqvhY5kon6DMl4jH4cHFDaveWOTsgPbykiH1tffV5Ofo_ZDd7clIGPao8rvLXfpimXe68IRHooEYL69BBCzliI42rS4edOdbYwSUePyG3E8qqghUFAsJdEB3jxGANEn-WTJPNqUpbgCdniEzu9lYRjdNJEXoJYeBjSgPro3nf8_mXY58sP/s320/IMG_9118.jpeg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieUwLmfHKchu1HDkv_QXevrLhyphenhyphenJkdJmGyWK64QC4KsHOmZqkCRgUQIdqY0PGlOjcbe-4p9b71S116TCYjkJUEO2996MC6HTEdelIDBdxP78ONynCOcGfCtUVG6D_PhbMTXCnUQVR3Ph73bixmQOTjXBIsUPX5GzDwResCchb1HDTT56sr_A41NLDFgSAF5/s4272/IMG_9119.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieUwLmfHKchu1HDkv_QXevrLhyphenhyphenJkdJmGyWK64QC4KsHOmZqkCRgUQIdqY0PGlOjcbe-4p9b71S116TCYjkJUEO2996MC6HTEdelIDBdxP78ONynCOcGfCtUVG6D_PhbMTXCnUQVR3Ph73bixmQOTjXBIsUPX5GzDwResCchb1HDTT56sr_A41NLDFgSAF5/s320/IMG_9119.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRKs2aZrcoTsWabxErACiF7gnKpCVrY3Fj3OAjacdxbBMbmL_fUhGZDWkx64tlLNVvSqaGJaRn72CObi3y-2vQctwn-C2gFAJSNJShM1zx1pWUhiW94aAdyYt9wXeftEIUQy72zOCb1Px-S8tDymYJ4aIUc9H7LxxwKsxMh7UBw_PJ47BgdnQN5I9GKTE2/s4272/IMG_9123.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRKs2aZrcoTsWabxErACiF7gnKpCVrY3Fj3OAjacdxbBMbmL_fUhGZDWkx64tlLNVvSqaGJaRn72CObi3y-2vQctwn-C2gFAJSNJShM1zx1pWUhiW94aAdyYt9wXeftEIUQy72zOCb1Px-S8tDymYJ4aIUc9H7LxxwKsxMh7UBw_PJ47BgdnQN5I9GKTE2/s320/IMG_9123.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-87681705135986883652023-12-28T13:20:00.002+09:002023-12-28T13:20:18.126+09:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">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...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">...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...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">...steaming the pudding for hours on the wood stove, then letting it rest and mature...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">...stuffing the poultry, trussing the roasts, making the sauces. Hours of baking and roasting and steaming and simmering...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">...making the Christmas Crackers, finding the treats and thinking of the riddles to go inside...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">...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!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We take a break after our main course to exchange the presents from beneath the tree, then return for the final course; The Pudding!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">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. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Served with antique silver coins hidden inside, and a sweet béchamel brandy sauce, the Pudding brings Christmas Dinner to a delicious close...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">...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! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">#christmasdinner</div></div><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4c1RuznXSs19YT1PPK1rv1lDcMD9kR5hy56RTf5o4eBkfhnbnHRdA0Z9jXolCeEsaOWXgPWG5tdiOp_9oT9Ua68Xwcwr5gXAWAqqcOBC6Xw1Nz8n-7VAaWQ-GWpwCxH4jOOpsN3PtB5LoX5yjgidVqatoWA0JRpMkldRnbkZ335XLjoMNYEOLTplZ8Dns/s1478/2CFE8735-027D-4AF3-BCE1-D65364A05407.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1478" data-original-width="1108" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4c1RuznXSs19YT1PPK1rv1lDcMD9kR5hy56RTf5o4eBkfhnbnHRdA0Z9jXolCeEsaOWXgPWG5tdiOp_9oT9Ua68Xwcwr5gXAWAqqcOBC6Xw1Nz8n-7VAaWQ-GWpwCxH4jOOpsN3PtB5LoX5yjgidVqatoWA0JRpMkldRnbkZ335XLjoMNYEOLTplZ8Dns/s320/2CFE8735-027D-4AF3-BCE1-D65364A05407.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMykOOBpXnDV7SVjFB40QI4M-XJVT4hXtrKCs52-OiOcioPmsZc-IAfaVn9a7zkiooo3GuxALpIhVf1k_Qj7OVAgFieIPQ76Kfbr9K_NOo21yOtXePMdfxVHG_rBNUMbXjyyoK86ZtTh2wBbdQigtZr4lQYZpsuh0BSpHcnohdq_Uj3GCAlmRThwwayz3s/s1478/62C6274C-254A-48C4-8E8A-8DE35D149774.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1478" data-original-width="1108" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMykOOBpXnDV7SVjFB40QI4M-XJVT4hXtrKCs52-OiOcioPmsZc-IAfaVn9a7zkiooo3GuxALpIhVf1k_Qj7OVAgFieIPQ76Kfbr9K_NOo21yOtXePMdfxVHG_rBNUMbXjyyoK86ZtTh2wBbdQigtZr4lQYZpsuh0BSpHcnohdq_Uj3GCAlmRThwwayz3s/s320/62C6274C-254A-48C4-8E8A-8DE35D149774.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWyNzoHLL1Jk9IbN1PwZrcDD-X6cR-9fv8jqObbUP0C7I64BuBIpkzhMYZlObmiDvX7FA3xSwn5sUTrT67GesvXSvijrcSimAp7tE7vKbMmFBaA5XJ8QFbZg4KbfW-X5CXcF-rIO0UX2LzvPAyHweJYMtQ3H5sMk4zXytkRnUwd7uNq12XM7jRn9wIH405/s1478/5096BCFC-B21C-4432-B1D9-0F356474B92A.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEictVDs0laxpduBmL8qZ1RtCGBEa_Lt9May2jwlZrt2dPIXoAEzMU4qhrthbz8J3OT11YSi8LLz28ZhtJt8kiakaa7YaXphOCLEhuJo52ErngE0hrPgQVejwk32uhxBdZ7QCOQW-_66ckY4cNmZYyQ5c8ditnpnbd0ZrXpGiEatQ0nI7mBCqAN8jqFmwCQR/s1478/FEC0FA91-8525-40FD-B877-C8B9EF49C204.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1478" data-original-width="1108" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEictVDs0laxpduBmL8qZ1RtCGBEa_Lt9May2jwlZrt2dPIXoAEzMU4qhrthbz8J3OT11YSi8LLz28ZhtJt8kiakaa7YaXphOCLEhuJo52ErngE0hrPgQVejwk32uhxBdZ7QCOQW-_66ckY4cNmZYyQ5c8ditnpnbd0ZrXpGiEatQ0nI7mBCqAN8jqFmwCQR/s320/FEC0FA91-8525-40FD-B877-C8B9EF49C204.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-65101924271028106212023-08-27T15:50:00.004+09:002023-12-28T13:20:53.390+09:00ALL THAT GLITTERS IS NOT GOLD...<p><br /></p><p>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. </p><p><br /></p><p>"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). </p><p><br /></p><p>This is the same process by which metals are smelted. </p><p><br /></p><p>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...</p><p><br /></p><p>Wood firing is capricious and serendipitous, and therein lies its unique and unassuming beauty, variety and charm.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZYSUuDCghVPPVcCq2efaiLwJUTQugIk0o_Dm1t3sgiFvj5d-XmSUzHRdKAHYF32AElPBO3_tdlonmFwNSp4YA4tWpkfwys2HHpJXfKASCQbYKjmlGvsqV-QQhNXtooGXx7_Ed8SiyMa3r6YAoNCs8eXk05OwkfqfUgRCOp2Hjx1Auj1hj8UwJXM_vMYOC/s4272/IMG_8934.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4272" data-original-width="2848" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZYSUuDCghVPPVcCq2efaiLwJUTQugIk0o_Dm1t3sgiFvj5d-XmSUzHRdKAHYF32AElPBO3_tdlonmFwNSp4YA4tWpkfwys2HHpJXfKASCQbYKjmlGvsqV-QQhNXtooGXx7_Ed8SiyMa3r6YAoNCs8eXk05OwkfqfUgRCOp2Hjx1Auj1hj8UwJXM_vMYOC/s320/IMG_8934.jpeg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_xRyK-vAIBYPmdoUtRpayczWpFjkk2IKZ64cxszba-mbbg3aKSux3LrhKlBzPcP3skzOJh5gpnBXhhFWJwnZjO3R0XlyBFWNM35HzRv4cQ-H57XLnDvrQA-5Pq_WLrkDxShcVCK0_x7ZJvFra3Z7135_5kCgmlsiBSXbW-188dH7WYtCvaRn0Ps-Tk4KD/s4272/IMG_8928.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_xRyK-vAIBYPmdoUtRpayczWpFjkk2IKZ64cxszba-mbbg3aKSux3LrhKlBzPcP3skzOJh5gpnBXhhFWJwnZjO3R0XlyBFWNM35HzRv4cQ-H57XLnDvrQA-5Pq_WLrkDxShcVCK0_x7ZJvFra3Z7135_5kCgmlsiBSXbW-188dH7WYtCvaRn0Ps-Tk4KD/s320/IMG_8928.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXBrz0827Xf-T6yZ29lDe8H7nHDUO0WEFm02GZ8yDb3zuNkWn4K6e-lVUUuSTNayEIe6h9jJX4elBjuQ7aOw4H5m9P4arUIUbcMgsZ41oYofyb-OkeXS_9_UkcO2FzTWSlW7xmq6pNXhaxFeRs95VqyGh25KxEp2JRcbOO59ArvziLRHqotZZBDucixtdl/s2448/IMG_0697.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXBrz0827Xf-T6yZ29lDe8H7nHDUO0WEFm02GZ8yDb3zuNkWn4K6e-lVUUuSTNayEIe6h9jJX4elBjuQ7aOw4H5m9P4arUIUbcMgsZ41oYofyb-OkeXS_9_UkcO2FzTWSlW7xmq6pNXhaxFeRs95VqyGh25KxEp2JRcbOO59ArvziLRHqotZZBDucixtdl/s320/IMG_0697.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmfFrp49UOKiA2s60SCBdPMBZKjrUMgBzMQYDlmqVwappo2VznX30LD3TEG1i5L1uBdBso4CfCoQiToEen0yoRDRiL85Vj8pxiHwc4ScU4F8LUQxE_U0uXwWdVZI3fwKnKypN_GkCNpgxwqy6AfaLMMxQ-g2rI2D0ygF2_Va5VYkQXrmOF5ZwBEr8b7rVC/s2448/IMG_0589.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmfFrp49UOKiA2s60SCBdPMBZKjrUMgBzMQYDlmqVwappo2VznX30LD3TEG1i5L1uBdBso4CfCoQiToEen0yoRDRiL85Vj8pxiHwc4ScU4F8LUQxE_U0uXwWdVZI3fwKnKypN_GkCNpgxwqy6AfaLMMxQ-g2rI2D0ygF2_Va5VYkQXrmOF5ZwBEr8b7rVC/s320/IMG_0589.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-47165277169938889222023-08-19T08:08:00.000+09:002023-08-19T08:08:13.310+09:00TINY ACORNS<p> TINY ACORNS...</p><p>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.</p><p>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!</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p><br /></p><p> 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.</p><p>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...</p><p>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.</p><p>People from around Japan can sponsor the project, allowing those from urban areas to be involved in supporting the natural environment.</p><p>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.</p><div><br /></div>Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-76314765355884807652023-08-14T15:26:00.000+09:002023-08-14T15:26:28.719+09:00Mountain High, Water Deep<p><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Georgia; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">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. </p>
<p style="font-family: Georgia; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15.9px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Georgia; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">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. </p>
<p style="font-family: Georgia; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15.9px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Georgia; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">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...</p><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2nrCd6btUUyMbV6jGm4d7_3daV985HCzfvsHZeNeIKuA9sIte-xEHdkLpBj74ylV1QgOAx-TxNisccyJ1jiwOiqY2wuHyhT1L1nFiKpEdMoaXsYaNbxZHvfxHnu0nxorVlkNw8DoA8LIc6q5HGF8sIUFnPfsmNm0lw7MvAruhL06fKzUEq3Yn7SlLCrYy/s1440/IMG_0719.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2nrCd6btUUyMbV6jGm4d7_3daV985HCzfvsHZeNeIKuA9sIte-xEHdkLpBj74ylV1QgOAx-TxNisccyJ1jiwOiqY2wuHyhT1L1nFiKpEdMoaXsYaNbxZHvfxHnu0nxorVlkNw8DoA8LIc6q5HGF8sIUFnPfsmNm0lw7MvAruhL06fKzUEq3Yn7SlLCrYy/s320/IMG_0719.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFU_a63cKphwgbNVR5rgVAFqVOzqc1u7kJSX4wHo9a6CSyBqrK3XK2wGAuU6pMHgHT1l_lIGMZ4VXV5Z5OgN_WlWr-ZD2vRPZu818K4wv0IwxaFQKYysmxU7RK8FO6_LyfjI96q7EvX2g3Osb_hRYD1EfFTI0uaYCtFzJ1vG-RJdHO0d-AwgeGr7EgWefx/s2448/IMG_0724.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4j94udO7e-29HacfTNMj6DFWj7YzcxU9S1xinuGA8UbNkMx1gVvczK_MstTUgxylzc_bx8kuER29nXeR_56uN6bVuS6CS6N-_lk5lsEvBx-5FDOW3_dEgBu7Ro_eyZInqTZfgm0JS8uRI0g7O9DImGRLT3V9lH7Cupuxa31dYnE6xUSnIRVLKxXq0NJB/s320/IMG_0736.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-2241387679047646892023-07-27T08:10:00.001+09:002023-07-27T08:16:11.325+09:00Featured on the official media of the Government of Japan<p> It is a rare honour to be featured on the official <a href="https://www.facebook.com/JapanGov/posts/pfbid0GG7yurRK5Khn3TTqLGxVXoTAUBPuM7bDytChMYeiWM6xsXn8kFViWH3ALjzyq9zxl">Facebook</a> page and <a href="https://twitter.com/JapanGov/status/1684081194911272960?s=20" target="_blank">Twitter</a> of the Government of Japan. My thanks to the Office of the Prime Minister for the kind invitation!</p><p><br /></p><p>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.</p><p>https://euancraig.blogspot.com/</p><p><br /></p><p>#LandOfDiversity</p><p>#Tochigi</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZKMLScZc71YCcLjbkk_U6UVlU9FUdaH2FBJA8PXpZxL7kpGGdQNjDQZ6rNtfCwGLniX8QptlIsWWELYG1LX9zE7KdU8wqALvscgD-zCgJBW8YtSolPvvJ-fWNtue8VYpDHsfPgVu1kGMD6fWejQVnScC7vLvUG_xBS6taCewvGcA7FUtSkrNmkjHHP17v/s1536/IMG_0424.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="1152" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZKMLScZc71YCcLjbkk_U6UVlU9FUdaH2FBJA8PXpZxL7kpGGdQNjDQZ6rNtfCwGLniX8QptlIsWWELYG1LX9zE7KdU8wqALvscgD-zCgJBW8YtSolPvvJ-fWNtue8VYpDHsfPgVu1kGMD6fWejQVnScC7vLvUG_xBS6taCewvGcA7FUtSkrNmkjHHP17v/w480-h640/IMG_0424.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1529" data-original-width="2048" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9JK3yyoYuA6xR7V0LCSsA81cRrJOXVPFqKB_IA5c7jKu45snZV_urF8EdDC7TVK-84cnU8zr77Nqc_ZqtDC03qpK2bkkm7kNfR4r4DoIk9UK-JlWt40AgZMGvu5iD7neR5HJrX8BcUFQJHEb_0CQ_L8PoFpboHrjcl4A_x1CQMo1a8gBq-LqCmBq0Wloa/w640-h478/IMG_0426.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR6wnAh8YGlXfI95LAJSFwstZxwLrCA_TYO6zteM-i8to06MtWHEI5a42MmCjwk7xewk4ZoR9YANs-QVvf2btP6SSwE52g3vVDq5H6LfWmkClhgM54v3aJOqf_dVKGeG7NbKHtq7u0n2uG0yRc8jf5tOvB4iHnuL8VQ-N0yl8o0E3wpd4LfpWQUJwN5jKI/s2048/IMG_0517.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR6wnAh8YGlXfI95LAJSFwstZxwLrCA_TYO6zteM-i8to06MtWHEI5a42MmCjwk7xewk4ZoR9YANs-QVvf2btP6SSwE52g3vVDq5H6LfWmkClhgM54v3aJOqf_dVKGeG7NbKHtq7u0n2uG0yRc8jf5tOvB4iHnuL8VQ-N0yl8o0E3wpd4LfpWQUJwN5jKI/w480-h640/IMG_0517.png" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLilv0-3KpI54fku96-MpTUw_M2dAgvr-u_OxpaVEGvEmYdNkg7LmZ-tpUSTJ0OaMBxUat5vMo0nK3Jo8Ua-9gxPkenF-w4WEtkU5VmDqh052Nk6wAaXuyZJunMRiN05bLh6MmAMjl7veZyeM3pkxGBRiKA0ZT4Lx44R4BTbk8049ioncHfyvpvRRPokA5/s4272/IMG_8923.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLilv0-3KpI54fku96-MpTUw_M2dAgvr-u_OxpaVEGvEmYdNkg7LmZ-tpUSTJ0OaMBxUat5vMo0nK3Jo8Ua-9gxPkenF-w4WEtkU5VmDqh052Nk6wAaXuyZJunMRiN05bLh6MmAMjl7veZyeM3pkxGBRiKA0ZT4Lx44R4BTbk8049ioncHfyvpvRRPokA5/w640-h426/IMG_8923.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-9389621629569930772023-07-26T08:20:00.002+09:002023-07-26T09:40:53.815+09:00HANDLES<p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Palatino-Roman"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Palatino-Roman"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinjlwmlnLFd7vIg7cX1UNxSEz2MBfDd4ZHUbygmebVPMEZkBgitnwl19vPKpISTahld29THobTolw_pwTO7ppQxupKapleOagABz_jEZNvxiFK8-RM1cHITq-ud09yf90xgRqkmUr5tB2_vnStgifL7C-EKCOrwiYuIwHnfZp4xnahnEHCJ4-7-cf-JtF0/s2448/IMG_0504.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinjlwmlnLFd7vIg7cX1UNxSEz2MBfDd4ZHUbygmebVPMEZkBgitnwl19vPKpISTahld29THobTolw_pwTO7ppQxupKapleOagABz_jEZNvxiFK8-RM1cHITq-ud09yf90xgRqkmUr5tB2_vnStgifL7C-EKCOrwiYuIwHnfZp4xnahnEHCJ4-7-cf-JtF0/w400-h400/IMG_0504.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span face="Palatino-Roman"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Palatino-Roman"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Palatino-Roman">The afternoon sunlight floods in through the studio windows as I finish the last of the handles. Spreading the wide end of a coned coil of clay with a few taps of my thumb, I moisten it with enough water to form a thin slurry then fold the wet surface over the rim of the mug and smear in the edges inside and out. I take extra care to confirm and compress the outer corners where it joins the rim, and with such a large surface area of contact, this join will become the strongest part of the pot. </span></p><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Palatino-Roman"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Palatino-Roman"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtp3LBmGeHuul3oSkh7qiMm2luUSpfop6SMdv84O27_CXESiziXuUlboAxB-dkObBaVhCFM7zE8Iz7vqGBkG1j3gbPBj7SiCFcfUXuhQUIN4iRhz2JnKqmmHYw2L2JkmrUN9jRa_xLrviE_aCyUwwsr6bMS9MOPF7YUXEOo0TySpBPsjvIb0HmVnC5cZtc/s4272/IMG_0478.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtp3LBmGeHuul3oSkh7qiMm2luUSpfop6SMdv84O27_CXESiziXuUlboAxB-dkObBaVhCFM7zE8Iz7vqGBkG1j3gbPBj7SiCFcfUXuhQUIN4iRhz2JnKqmmHYw2L2JkmrUN9jRa_xLrviE_aCyUwwsr6bMS9MOPF7YUXEOo0TySpBPsjvIb0HmVnC5cZtc/w640-h426/IMG_0478.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span face="Palatino-Roman"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Palatino-Roman"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15.4px;"><span face="Palatino-Roman"></span><br /></p><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Palatino-Roman">Wetting my hand in a pail of well water, I gently caress the surface of the clay within the circle of my thumb and index finger, smoothing out the surface as gravity pulls it down. When the coil of clay has tapered evenly from the thickness of the joint to the thin end, I alternate my grip from side to side as I slide it down the length if the clay. This helps to form an oval profile, thicker in the centre than on the edges, giving the handle a backbone and making it stronger. Each stroke of my hand sliding across the wet surface of the clay aligns the the particles in the direction which the clay will eventually bend, adding to its tensile strength. With the end of my thumb I fashion groves down the handle, slight changes of direction which help stabilize the structure of the handle.</span></p><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15.4px;"><span face="Palatino-Roman"></span><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAV9yzVBmgELbu55T0iIHAvgKuq3thwIP6femso9N_JGvlCk-k0nI5xS9nco8RG6u1GwgKVsrT96mHPF7hIkyDR4cmMmtUea498jB_IqIr-bdCtqsdzp0lwKtrCEIysHRA-Kt0a_8AXvgemEuUymW9uRp_TOftlMLdX-ctQAo-l_VQ3UDWYRhAw038uEaF/s2448/IMG_0493.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAV9yzVBmgELbu55T0iIHAvgKuq3thwIP6femso9N_JGvlCk-k0nI5xS9nco8RG6u1GwgKVsrT96mHPF7hIkyDR4cmMmtUea498jB_IqIr-bdCtqsdzp0lwKtrCEIysHRA-Kt0a_8AXvgemEuUymW9uRp_TOftlMLdX-ctQAo-l_VQ3UDWYRhAw038uEaF/w400-h400/IMG_0493.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15.4px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15.4px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15.4px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Palatino-Roman">I rotate the cup in the horizontal plane, never swinging the handle for that would cause stress fractures, and add grooves to the internal surface of the handle as well. And, when the handle is just the right length, I lift the cup upright, and allow gravity and the tensile strength of the clay to form a perfect curve, then press the handle into the side of the body to join it back into the cup. The remaining strap of clay I fold and wind into the curve at the hip of the pot, and the very last end slides into the line at the top of the foot. Thus, the handle flows in a natural curve, springing from the rim and returning to the body in smooth and harmonious movement. </span></p><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15.4px;"><span face="Palatino-Roman"></span><br /></p><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Palatino-Roman">The trick is; not to interfere. The clay knows where it wants to go, gravity knows what it has to do, and once it is done, you must know when to let it be.</span></p><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15.4px;"><span face="Palatino-Roman"></span><br /></p><p style="font-family: Palatino; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="Palatino-Roman">The art of the potter is not about controlling the clay and forcing your will upon it, but understanding the clay and helping it express its nature in harmony with universal forces. </span></p><div><span face="Palatino-Roman"><br /></span></div>Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-40506842800259677532023-07-25T05:33:00.001+09:002023-07-25T05:35:10.609+09:00EXHIBITION IN TAKASAKI<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpzHfumL5S4rU2Myulsnyf_GqxxE1LC_MWR0m_ijfVK_GfvUb5cNPfW68uOIQXDyMu0mtE0pqPy5vlWAT3O1WkJfXZps7AYBdGL3Zc68bE6Vr2es-Xj0LCw7zZHYqjbR2NzWsojQGzP3IhjXd-9XrB7RG__WIien5VLrlS6ruekhRV-7srRD4bcygtWxhU/s4272/IMG_8914.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4272" data-original-width="2848" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpzHfumL5S4rU2Myulsnyf_GqxxE1LC_MWR0m_ijfVK_GfvUb5cNPfW68uOIQXDyMu0mtE0pqPy5vlWAT3O1WkJfXZps7AYBdGL3Zc68bE6Vr2es-Xj0LCw7zZHYqjbR2NzWsojQGzP3IhjXd-9XrB7RG__WIien5VLrlS6ruekhRV-7srRD4bcygtWxhU/w266-h400/IMG_8914.jpeg" width="266" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;">You are invited to join me at @yamatoya.takasaki for my solo exhibition from Friday, August 4th till Tuesday, August 15th! </span></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I hope that the pots I make all speak for themselves, and that they will become part of a conversation, in your home, on your dining table and in your daily life. A conversation about the beauty of nature and about human beings as part of the natural world. And I will be in the gallery every day to explain the details of the process and philosophy of their creation. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I look forward to seeing you in the real world!</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">#gunma #woodfiredceramics #handcraftedpottery #japaneseceramics #高崎 #群馬 #陶芸 #作品展 #薪窯</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga8-hFoaU7sL-4_VdUVSqRHPGbY07wc3753-1O8wwNME0_MsJCCLbeOji2gfXBpvCDsz8n4EGCvZUfAR0E5zjwWz0AfDNowioCwHGXTJUjcCrJnM86tZZLL_RyxQmLpEY7vHTUqnKfStmlwugmSHflVH9L3xSzcllGvaIpKphZ5hkK4aVZIzxG13RckQtF/s2448/IMG_0420.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga8-hFoaU7sL-4_VdUVSqRHPGbY07wc3753-1O8wwNME0_MsJCCLbeOji2gfXBpvCDsz8n4EGCvZUfAR0E5zjwWz0AfDNowioCwHGXTJUjcCrJnM86tZZLL_RyxQmLpEY7vHTUqnKfStmlwugmSHflVH9L3xSzcllGvaIpKphZ5hkK4aVZIzxG13RckQtF/s320/IMG_0420.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6sqLdtKYmADhYUUO8GMTh9qK_25kvj6O79hQgF64kDJoR6ETqw3U617Yt4P10hB0ihVZWVIkKpJFVJR60PYaU2ncf7MXXFdWXloLXtJhJaKrziDFhQSLOoMjc_ioFmVlUlVPjTwT3bshcMIRqh7pa0iqBOokX-4FNtpB5Mxku0muWxBZsfdYpe1tW6n5Y/s2448/IMG_0416.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6sqLdtKYmADhYUUO8GMTh9qK_25kvj6O79hQgF64kDJoR6ETqw3U617Yt4P10hB0ihVZWVIkKpJFVJR60PYaU2ncf7MXXFdWXloLXtJhJaKrziDFhQSLOoMjc_ioFmVlUlVPjTwT3bshcMIRqh7pa0iqBOokX-4FNtpB5Mxku0muWxBZsfdYpe1tW6n5Y/s320/IMG_0416.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-27312662711038323772022-07-13T13:52:00.000+09:002022-07-13T13:52:23.175+09:00The Analog Man<p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My Dear Friend,</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The undulating ceiling of clouds catches on the peaks of the mountains, their ragged edges swirling into the valleys and tangling in the trees. And as those fragments disperse into the air, I can feel the misty droplets kissing my face as my feet carry me<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>up the valley on the homeward leg of my morning walk. I muse that I am like a fish looking up through murky waters at shipwrecked sails being torn upon a reef.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Strange how often we use analogy to try to explain the world. Of course, any description of our experience of the world will be less than the experience itself, but we try to evoke images in the minds of others with analogies which only take them one step further away from the truth. I have often heard people describe a sunset as “looking like a painting”. But I think it should the other way around. That there are paintings which look like sunsets. I have seen paintings of sunsets, some of which are incredibly beautiful, and though those art works may say something else, about the feelings of the artist, or the nature of the medium, I also know that there is no painting, nor photo, nor cinematographic representation of a sunset which compares in breadth, depth or detail to the full sensory experience of an actual sunset. Or a flower. Or a coffee mug.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgScuTI5l45OF6HvC6Rg5In8WKkVj949rwpdi2iRulHzY1zm1OkB1KT32m4p8FiEd2urjUOFvbxLQusiCFVN0odst9na5KhuGuOjOIEyyLMIdlsefmtJghlUlHH_GvFhgyoQYduQTykMGNIQqqhvEfAfT-phhhCQ7I5oycq6lnw2prThKBfGFWGIHYUpQ/s3088/IMG_8627.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2056" data-original-width="3088" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgScuTI5l45OF6HvC6Rg5In8WKkVj949rwpdi2iRulHzY1zm1OkB1KT32m4p8FiEd2urjUOFvbxLQusiCFVN0odst9na5KhuGuOjOIEyyLMIdlsefmtJghlUlHH_GvFhgyoQYduQTykMGNIQqqhvEfAfT-phhhCQ7I5oycq6lnw2prThKBfGFWGIHYUpQ/w400-h266/IMG_8627.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As I enter the back garden gate and bow to the Inari shrine as I pass, I take a mental note that the bamboo shoots are coming up, in and around the grove, and need to be harvested before they get too big. I come in quietly through the studio door, trying not to wake the family. The two cats sneak past me eagerly, looking first to me and then the kitchen door expectantly, urgently mewling breakfast requests.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_yfJNkp0EIWvuyKXbAfs3uilg_8ztDznyz1TSPqfGwhbM7PYcaTAn-gbTmJ0BAHT0_HUA_oR0u2H0gxy3IBIGgG3l3m2ndtFHmNlvZWtf3wSbtNNKTXOjgb5oDYwAy2lCiNOaR0iTDfwtqxHkR6wla4OTataaKQOoUGwsBw-n2_4gcBadpkF6ORtKIA/s1936/IMG_0588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_yfJNkp0EIWvuyKXbAfs3uilg_8ztDznyz1TSPqfGwhbM7PYcaTAn-gbTmJ0BAHT0_HUA_oR0u2H0gxy3IBIGgG3l3m2ndtFHmNlvZWtf3wSbtNNKTXOjgb5oDYwAy2lCiNOaR0iTDfwtqxHkR6wla4OTataaKQOoUGwsBw-n2_4gcBadpkF6ORtKIA/w400-h400/IMG_0588.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Cornflakes?” I enquire to them. I interpret their answering “Meow” as an emphatic “Yes!”, and give them each a bowl of dry cat kibble. The analog clock on the wall insists that it is a quarter to six.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Isn’t it interesting how language evolves? Somehow “Analog” has come to mean “As opposed to Digital”, and seems to equate to anything of a manual or physical nature. I have often been described in recent years as “analog”, along with my work process, lifestyle and general values. But I’m not sure that is the right word, and it somehow implies that I am some kind of anachronistic Luddite, out of step with the “Real” world. To the contrary, I have striven to pare off the artificial and the arbitrary in order to live a simpler, more practical and sustainable life, in line with the realities of our era.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">An “Analog Clock” is not named because of its mechanical, physical nature, but because the movements of it’s hands are “Analogous” to the movement of the sun’s shadow on a Sundial. Of course, the shadow only moves between dawn and dusk, and the ancients divided the movement of the shadow into twelve equal parts, an inheritance from the ancient Babylonian’s arbitrary predilection for base twelve. Which, incidentally, is the same reason that there are 360 degrees in a circle, and sixty minutes in an hour, and sixty seconds in a minute. Dividing the night time into twelve, and making all the twenty-four hours equal in duration came much later. It ignored the fact that periods of daylight vary in length depending on where the planet is on it’s endless journey, a little droplet teeming with life, rotating on it’s axis, wobbling it’s roughly elliptical orbit in the goldilocks zone around it’s local star, in this vast and barren galactic desert. It also ignored the fact that, like every other living thing that exists on earth, we evolved to dance in rhythm with this endless symphony of light and dark. Then they divided the world into twenty-four time zones, so that we could all ignore the actual movement of the sun together. And, just so that there is no misunderstanding, a second is now the base unit of time, and is defined thus:</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">“the unperturbed ground-state hyperfine transition frequency of the caesium 133 atom, to be 9192631770 when expressed in the unit Hz, which is equal to s</span><span class="s2" style="color: #202122; font-kerning: none; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"><sup>−1</sup></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">.”</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Hmmm.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Don’t get me wrong, I understand the importance of accuracy, and science is another way of exploring and understanding the universe. I marvel at the wonders which science discloses of both the macro and microcosm, and the miracles performed for the benefit of humankind. But not all of those discoveries are beneficial, and the choice of how, when and whether to use them cannot be taken lightly, and they should never be swallowed whole without due consideration of their consequences. Just as tradition must be constantly questioned and reviewed, rejected or reinvented where necessary, as many evils have been perpetuated in traditions's name.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">For my part, I haven’t used an alarm clock or a wrist watch, neither analog, digital nor atomic, for many, many years. The role of the clock on my wall is only to synchronise with the rest of society, as is the calendar. There is much of modern society which not only ignores but is detrimental to nature, both in the sense of our global environment and in terms of our own human nature, our physical and emotional health. And life is too short and too precious to waste on arbitrary nonsense. So please forgive me if I choose not to invest my life too deeply in popular trends and artifice, because it is a matter of life and death for me, and I am no crazier than the lonely lemming who questions common conventions and popular culture and, after due consideration, says, “No, thank you all the same, but I don’t want to go that way!”.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyDMbdKdfep7lRUIiPeYRRKiNinF-TbcFO1X_g0b90elb6hyLF8W7YQd8ZugauL_6Okz20DNUhx3KesDd43h1pzH2AfUMxlC2GSTDf9UYTgEd5misT2zxFYqt8lsBr30ukLEfSd9K6RurzdRj9g7Dw0bW5cWfVPOPyiFLCB8kJeKJ7mhYt9nuxUohcRQ/s1936/IMG_5154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyDMbdKdfep7lRUIiPeYRRKiNinF-TbcFO1X_g0b90elb6hyLF8W7YQd8ZugauL_6Okz20DNUhx3KesDd43h1pzH2AfUMxlC2GSTDf9UYTgEd5misT2zxFYqt8lsBr30ukLEfSd9K6RurzdRj9g7Dw0bW5cWfVPOPyiFLCB8kJeKJ7mhYt9nuxUohcRQ/w400-h400/IMG_5154.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I awoke at dawn and went for a walk around the village, and arrived home in time to make Obento lunch boxes and breakfast for the family. And off they went, to work and to school. Now that I have cleaned the kitchen, put away the dishes, and the futons, and written this letter to you, I shall turn off the digital world, go out to the studio and make some actual pots. Not analogies. Pots that aren’t canvasses but are art works in and of themselves, explorations of the materials and their interaction with natural forces. Pots that tell a story of their making and my understanding of the beauty of nature. Pots that will become part of other peoples lives, a conversation about the beauty of living every day. Pots that will continue to speak their truth for generations after I am gone and forgotten, another unknown craftsman. Bowls, perhaps, or plates. Or coffee mugs. While I sit in the light from the window, kicking the wooden wheel, with my hands in the earth and the water, listening to the long whistling cry of hawks... the twitter of sparrows... the croaking of frogs in the rice paddies...and the buzz and ringing chimes of cicadas in the trees, I will ponder the difference between the actual and the arbitrary, and the folly of convincing oneself that the arbitrary is absolute.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Sincerely,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Euan</span></span></p>Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-77499723303292111742022-02-16T21:45:00.002+09:002022-02-16T21:48:38.291+09:00Lines<p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/#"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6vGzHda1Tga23l4_Qt1SZ9ACEcE5nON37V6c-mEgM5KCfgG06DuX-m4P9w5_0DX8YQj5b5_uyr3Yp8xDaKBTIyZM4Fv086XWnKMyU05wTCChpcoXYJJ2BfLE_JpEd7QxumreJNRkuCyKHmXIcxEIhbEWbsTrh3fC6AvFBx2lmtVWPifZHQoFoWdcEBw=s320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I am just a potter. I know that there are many other labels which could be used to make it sound more romantic, more exotic, more valuable, but those lines we draw in the air to define our separateness don’t matter to the air. It enters us when we breath, becomes part of us for a brief time, then leaves us again in the constant ebb and flow of life.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/#"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiA4NejqsqWNr9SWK6UAYMronNyfAkvKatDkT1jeBNXIw-8J463_lB21_OmoDCA2D14tKabWtAiL_x0XrDvB8PLAsZekZbdx9EDlnbuHHw7ITBdtP847Xc7h7l4JqEzzsQsvYTwAKxH8CHotLLn3ixLuBR3gFbtqtnVKSv_LKXn8uIh215iczxnlB-GPQ=s320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">There are no lines between art and science, mathematics and language, work and leisure, for they are all overlapping ways in which we strive to understand our lives and our place in the world. I chose to become a potter because, of all the careers on the list, it was the only one which I could find which could twine all the scattered fibres of my fraying life into a single thread. It is, literally, the most down to earth way of embracing the sublime, to become part of the forces of nature, to take earth and water, air and fire, and give new expression to the beauty of the world. To share that passion with others through the touch of hand on clay, through the flavour and fragrance of sharing sustenance, through the art of just living.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/#"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDFZ69InqMBYqOWQ7UX-gOVSlDH5V9n4TXEmtx0ZuEzCz0SSn7CTWy2t6Lkxqa6vBsVo-KTYja-KP5Xq7pXUJB-4k5WMa_qqMVKkpRviPCiriXBeWAF6NE53YgLqe_PpHIM01fetRuC8aY1DJLjfjnd4H6HPZRtEwaEIn8EnbrdPw-3w4_DJiPQBccDg=s320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And I am just a potter, making pots to serve food to my loved ones. But each pot embodies that love, nourishes and enriches their lives, and the making of the vessels nourishes and enriches mine. Just as every day is new and unique, so too are the pots that I make, and there is no end to the wonder and joy of that discovery. The pots go out into the world and become part of other peoples lives, serving nourishment to their loved ones, telling their stories.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/#"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOByhTIE7vkmJCgkF82frRWCOh5hDLiRi4nzdFrfbunRQ1n0AWsWkAb9MTIMwMk2NQG1_s0e7PVb6VNB4E4QPkmNHqrs8RE70EdNtSFxOeatvU0CmxWS7WqKu__ZQThNeI7-G_6uJz6GrBf4Wyj8TApzM58fw5oao593U7cb48i2SvMlLVMrZAnb4uFA=s320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Yes, I am just a potter. But it is the pots that have made me so, and there are no lines to separate the making and the becoming, and that is enough.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/#"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibxQl-Tg6t1AQ3SjePFEjHuBklIkMcGjCFPyZ5TAxfagnO7mez_i8Hfvvf-Fg8vyMnxCrRl_0SjPVgLgFJJR_1LRzJBFk8OZn7GqhkPyUmgx3v32vEbszxi1F0D5ofvUZOpGtAvb6VnoswMLhUdNcl1Gqflin1-TdxvrzmjLWKNanCLJIGRprZqdPDLA=s320" /></a></div><p></p>Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-69776035292997426782022-01-18T14:35:00.002+09:002022-01-18T14:35:53.984+09:00Milk & Honey<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfDTfMkVBA5HmtXUnhaDKdYkB8SYI1Phqh_exTB5GuHmZtoNYWU8saDM9euZOaxQib2oBuvk2CpoCj5ca1dW8OraobJAVY_5iVxZ-WOEN7DSvSttKdEPAv-zBv5XpHUzJ7lLrmBIMEZivI6LYoQKiXh2ybHwRLklc62JQxAQJwuI9BoUClppboFBFSWA=s1936" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfDTfMkVBA5HmtXUnhaDKdYkB8SYI1Phqh_exTB5GuHmZtoNYWU8saDM9euZOaxQib2oBuvk2CpoCj5ca1dW8OraobJAVY_5iVxZ-WOEN7DSvSttKdEPAv-zBv5XpHUzJ7lLrmBIMEZivI6LYoQKiXh2ybHwRLklc62JQxAQJwuI9BoUClppboFBFSWA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Each morning is made fresh, clean and beautiful with a new coating of snow. It is a subtle softening of the edges of the world, without guile or intent. That gentle accumulation of delicate white crystals on every leaf and frond, branch and stone, machine, mansion or tumble down shed, that blankets them and makes them all equal within its tender embrace. It reminds me that beauty is the natural state of the world, of nature, of this universe in which we are privileged to live and breath and sense the infinite wonder of being. </span></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxp05jHEqAfc0VxdYGyVZFTvF3Wh3nj3CS-hn3usqq26pEmrlYcRbUV4mXdQZmh1X_2had3C4OWAyeIMUnGtjF082b_n4dLwLJSwpkXIbMICYDlcWgnz_fd75eYFmKrCxCGKcUNvRBoEhtExhvFTjwSaux4GUOOCNUDfvt2zi57hckwZbzwFbtnMnkIw=s1936" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxp05jHEqAfc0VxdYGyVZFTvF3Wh3nj3CS-hn3usqq26pEmrlYcRbUV4mXdQZmh1X_2had3C4OWAyeIMUnGtjF082b_n4dLwLJSwpkXIbMICYDlcWgnz_fd75eYFmKrCxCGKcUNvRBoEhtExhvFTjwSaux4GUOOCNUDfvt2zi57hckwZbzwFbtnMnkIw=s320" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I open the shutters in the predawn glow, then light the wood stove to warm our home. Grinding coffee and setting it to brew on the stove, I give a call out to those who need to leave the dreaming world and get off to school or work. Back in the kitchen I start to prepare Obento and breakfast, and the family start to emerge one by one and begin their own preparations for the day ahead. I break an egg into a bowl, add a hundred milliliters of milk, two spoons of sugar and a dash of vanilla, then whisk it with a fork till it is nice and smooth. Into this I soak two slices of bread, drizzle a little olive oil into a frypan on the stove, and lay the bread gently in the pan to sizzle. As the fragrance of coffee, vanilla and toasting bread fill the room I lay out plates and cutlery on the kitchen table. Each slice of french toast is flipped once so that each side is the golden brown of fox fur, and when they are done I place them on the black surface of the plate, dust them with cinnamon and top them with a spoonful of homemade yoghurt. After trickling lines of honey backwards and forwards across the yoghurt I drag the tip of a knife through the lines to feather the pattern. I pour the coffee, and breakfast is served! </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaaO9AjbQPYmGdo3Ahjk5EuXsOfl7SanIJ1x6Irh46mkq8YMcGMbtTMHli-OfxFb76FANXNAlBXU9KEaFIXqDFwIZO1p2DT1VIVf6Uga3cI3hTe-v24VSO_E-DGO39BXuCscxUNGu-ZCkSodcIrqdtaa90noK-Lz5Z-g8C5ro-t_HwJDVVBcXfVGoVWg=s1936" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaaO9AjbQPYmGdo3Ahjk5EuXsOfl7SanIJ1x6Irh46mkq8YMcGMbtTMHli-OfxFb76FANXNAlBXU9KEaFIXqDFwIZO1p2DT1VIVf6Uga3cI3hTe-v24VSO_E-DGO39BXuCscxUNGu-ZCkSodcIrqdtaa90noK-Lz5Z-g8C5ro-t_HwJDVVBcXfVGoVWg=s320" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The modern world, human society, can be a complex and difficult place. I don’t think that it needs to be, it’s just that we tend to outsmart ourselves, mistaking luxury and extravagance for happiness, and forget to care and be kind sometimes…so I strive for a simple life, rich in all the unassuming beauty that nature provides, and hope that my work is an expression of that. And every day is a chance to start afresh. </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtaQmwTNrMnXiQ9qwTuiuwT63h28wU5eC7elcfXikby99Xc2R-p4gdM0Jfa7AKpjagXJMTYoouEtcl_1M-gSaHQiQPni0CBX5iM3AWuPx77tToNwa_gCtMR17oCE_XWK1g2gHYC_SnaM3z4COBMn-TYwltOIivc0vMBhDFWkbxIHbBhqRtuoIfRl4eNg=s1936" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtaQmwTNrMnXiQ9qwTuiuwT63h28wU5eC7elcfXikby99Xc2R-p4gdM0Jfa7AKpjagXJMTYoouEtcl_1M-gSaHQiQPni0CBX5iM3AWuPx77tToNwa_gCtMR17oCE_XWK1g2gHYC_SnaM3z4COBMn-TYwltOIivc0vMBhDFWkbxIHbBhqRtuoIfRl4eNg=s320" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p>Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-79843501923524914602021-07-03T08:33:00.004+09:002021-07-04T09:10:50.524+09:00When is a Chawan not a Chawan?<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br />When is a teabowl not a teabowl? </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn8D4N5M10GJPx0DAC9nCB_T7WvOxCgqPCWMoBIH4eMMVMYE21pdqDL36HdTM8kct4HL2QnlU45AKLCcn-set6pIDTYfxvVToiCq_anlSHPYxpnINiZZCx6_nYfW7mOaHlhvRMKOQsoC0r/s1936/IMG_2393.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn8D4N5M10GJPx0DAC9nCB_T7WvOxCgqPCWMoBIH4eMMVMYE21pdqDL36HdTM8kct4HL2QnlU45AKLCcn-set6pIDTYfxvVToiCq_anlSHPYxpnINiZZCx6_nYfW7mOaHlhvRMKOQsoC0r/s320/IMG_2393.JPG" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpHjOsG90sao2VA1duSKSzrKVqX50-UwVvF6NcjakIy0FckxcYPZyjPxnOk25IJIAwqc00EzZ97__qImK1jNKE_ou1Z5vgdYdR9BCGLTE7sFpI1ihpfxHA-ys18QQNpNdoRu02mEzNPFkH/s2048/fullsizeoutput_6ca.jpeg"></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">When it is a rice bowl! Or a soup bowl, or any of a wide variety of vessels in Japanese cuisine with the appellation “Chawan".</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpHjOsG90sao2VA1duSKSzrKVqX50-UwVvF6NcjakIy0FckxcYPZyjPxnOk25IJIAwqc00EzZ97__qImK1jNKE_ou1Z5vgdYdR9BCGLTE7sFpI1ihpfxHA-ys18QQNpNdoRu02mEzNPFkH/s320/fullsizeoutput_6ca.jpeg" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"Cha" means tea, and "Wan" means bowl, and any of these bowls could be comfortably held in the hand and used to drink tea. In the case of a rice bowl, it is called a "Gohan Chawan", or more informally "Meshijawan", and in days past tea would often have been poured into the bowl after the rice was eaten to finish the meal and wash down the last skerrick of goodness! "Go" is an honorific prefix, which is dropped in informal situations or when referring humbly to one's self, and both "Han" and "Meshi" are different readings of the same kanji character which means simply "cooked rice”.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWo9RYCCiPtUP7CBjWl7PTgmIpOnk4MIsdQ_pNCUTS_vRG3tSZi-eCuzGZeUKlu9KU5XZArTBXrpUdUT7tC1cY2UfzsulRs_ztPbBAHYItyo4oNhVg3uNiPJkTCKNBc-nicyEjTVKpG-RL/s2048/IMG_8143.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWo9RYCCiPtUP7CBjWl7PTgmIpOnk4MIsdQ_pNCUTS_vRG3tSZi-eCuzGZeUKlu9KU5XZArTBXrpUdUT7tC1cY2UfzsulRs_ztPbBAHYItyo4oNhVg3uNiPJkTCKNBc-nicyEjTVKpG-RL/s320/IMG_8143.JPG" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">But this is where it gets interesting...there are four different kanji characters which all say "Wan" and all mean bowl, but with subtle differences in meaning! </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8X79rzmItI4USRNB-Jv8lqIny15TdRN0HqZ8jS0XXELZ-iBnPzkcJfW33zxPjwReM7fCbP85DU81lLKJjruES3T-FNzp4oupEzvEYXpE8Hv8WpPhdfne9Fe7TdbpKwo8YE-zseZI-yPtR/s1722/fullsizeoutput_728.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="1722" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8X79rzmItI4USRNB-Jv8lqIny15TdRN0HqZ8jS0XXELZ-iBnPzkcJfW33zxPjwReM7fCbP85DU81lLKJjruES3T-FNzp4oupEzvEYXpE8Hv8WpPhdfne9Fe7TdbpKwo8YE-zseZI-yPtR/s320/fullsizeoutput_728.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four Kanji that all say "Wan" and mean bowl, from left: Wooden, Metal, Pottery, Bowl for Tea Ceremony<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Three of them differ only by a change in one part of the character which indicates whether the bowl is made of wood (kihen), metal (kanehen) or ceramic (ishihen)! All of these kanji also include a portion which is called an "ukanmuri" which in this case symbolises a lid. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO5cXH-bnucuoyF_Qu5M4_L4xUAQYhhOOds3je_5mxWEirgi_pSm9PY2SkXDW5wl1P4leNbMPTdQ3LUxWVv5WIktQRilLkglfCmcp-x-8wWMoe0z4YslhOmk_oCgwao5DrMr4jvY0sR09E/s1763/fullsizeoutput_729.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="411" data-original-width="1763" height="75" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO5cXH-bnucuoyF_Qu5M4_L4xUAQYhhOOds3je_5mxWEirgi_pSm9PY2SkXDW5wl1P4leNbMPTdQ3LUxWVv5WIktQRilLkglfCmcp-x-8wWMoe0z4YslhOmk_oCgwao5DrMr4jvY0sR09E/w320-h75/fullsizeoutput_729.jpeg" title="From left: Ki (wood), Kin (metal), Ishi (stone), Ukanmuri" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From left: Ki (wood), Kane (metal), Ishi (stone), Ukanmuri</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"> Traditionally, these bowls would have been accompanied by a lid, though that is not very common these days except at restaurants. I always make a series of small plates which can be used separately for soy sauce, pickles, condiments or any variety of dishes, but also as lids. Which is why the underside is just as important as the upper surface! </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDi8DQUByB43TXx2GaPsQ3va3sxAsCnTxpw2K5LhEZ7_ohFCBeGezwiXgGc9P-SxlkxW_WFn1EzmMWFBB6yABAva_A_K5knr2TKtuSJKHEtayxQMLKn46B8X7mgqI0B4tfTjqSxn6Rf-Dm/s1936/IMG_2345.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDi8DQUByB43TXx2GaPsQ3va3sxAsCnTxpw2K5LhEZ7_ohFCBeGezwiXgGc9P-SxlkxW_WFn1EzmMWFBB6yABAva_A_K5knr2TKtuSJKHEtayxQMLKn46B8X7mgqI0B4tfTjqSxn6Rf-Dm/s320/IMG_2345.JPG" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Incidentally, if you add the kanji for powder in front of these "Chawan", they become "Machawan" meaning tea bowls for the tea ceremony. The fourth kanji for "Wan", however, has neither a symbol indicating what it is made from, nor that it has a lid, does not require the inclusion of the "Cha" or "Macha" characters, but always and only means a teabowl for the tea ceremony. But that is another story... </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSf-laRq6n20uhxwKP7fntMqDYLHGyGsVi-4cULX5iiscxvqhKJv-au8lVs58xNEsvJnEccF5tfidND4cUkhUhCkhg1J07VHwK4l36iyZuSVFkkCP6wvuyUxO8vzYlC5YvtfQVrf3RercC/s1936/fullsizeoutput_72c.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1427" data-original-width="1936" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSf-laRq6n20uhxwKP7fntMqDYLHGyGsVi-4cULX5iiscxvqhKJv-au8lVs58xNEsvJnEccF5tfidND4cUkhUhCkhg1J07VHwK4l36iyZuSVFkkCP6wvuyUxO8vzYlC5YvtfQVrf3RercC/s320/fullsizeoutput_72c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I was asked about the traditional size of "Gohan Chawan" (rice bowls) in Japan and the short answer; there is no hard and fast size, but there are a set of principles. They are based on the size of the human hand and the way that the bowl is used. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1fvNtaAFLx4dfm-4ToRn-L8-JRJxDlKHkvkFYdnarQzQlw4NCFNtSwUQMxAOMFBson6kIwWhEkznLAABPQRVDL5HTtFERo7onbd-zhMayWSm263Msi9OiBcTIifJdkXFu-pwx3YuT11uI/s1936/IMG_1739.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1fvNtaAFLx4dfm-4ToRn-L8-JRJxDlKHkvkFYdnarQzQlw4NCFNtSwUQMxAOMFBson6kIwWhEkznLAABPQRVDL5HTtFERo7onbd-zhMayWSm263Msi9OiBcTIifJdkXFu-pwx3YuT11uI/s320/IMG_1739.JPG" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">The rim diameter of the bowl is based on the circumference which your hands can encompass when you make a circle with your thumbs and middle fingers. The average, in traditional measurements, for the large diameter is usually "4sun" (about 121mm) and the smaller is usually 10% smaller at "3sun 6bu" (about 109mm). Having said that, large bowls would range from 110~135, and small bowls between 92~115. These days people generally tend to be larger than they were during the Edo period, so I make mine in the upper range. (Anything larger than 140mm would probably be considered a Domburi, but that is also another story!)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Ud3v95qKCQRsWRoC2mozvnpnDWFIQ0xF2NRtcSyS3ArtNrBgticSmmB5SBXBOrlPz10a_Ko_48z8uZ2GICFBVEXgiVrSeJbYODL9gJNRuSPYF3bCNU0K0KQ2mEx5nTzNXtv4Q4melYGJ/s1936/IMG_1751.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Ud3v95qKCQRsWRoC2mozvnpnDWFIQ0xF2NRtcSyS3ArtNrBgticSmmB5SBXBOrlPz10a_Ko_48z8uZ2GICFBVEXgiVrSeJbYODL9gJNRuSPYF3bCNU0K0KQ2mEx5nTzNXtv4Q4melYGJ/s320/IMG_1751.JPG" /></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">The internal proportions are usually Depth 1: Diameter 2, but not a hemisphere, rather a parabolic curve which makes it easy to use with chopsticks. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtWPaTQLENRdloTCP4d5vYp5NkMA7AOXsw2hQD_w-3VRlyMMbb_otLBLzJxHkL3-Oq2-iTzVmUfjoXeelq9_TM1xsOTkJx52RUCOye2i7bJhtFYtJUc_GkK5UggnbUOeUFPVxCe3PZFMVH/s1936/IMG_1744.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtWPaTQLENRdloTCP4d5vYp5NkMA7AOXsw2hQD_w-3VRlyMMbb_otLBLzJxHkL3-Oq2-iTzVmUfjoXeelq9_TM1xsOTkJx52RUCOye2i7bJhtFYtJUc_GkK5UggnbUOeUFPVxCe3PZFMVH/s320/IMG_1744.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">The foot of the bowl rests in the crook of the fingers, on top of the second and third phalanges, not in the palm of the hand, and the first phalanges extend beyond the foot. This makes the grip on the foot very stable, and also allows the middle finger free movement to assist in changing the dominant hand's grip on the chopsticks. This usually gives a diameter range of 55mm for large to 45mm for small. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTs4r192P6IYvroPgwUPyqtsLmbm-SfS8EzWM7IHJkoZ-ve3AvVEE1xW5ebKaEsLL80SLKlLm_aYv9RUs2omxSvd0unRokV51DmwbjttNLxZr7JIRUuVMYWi7sRR4AHxO5rRmDYKvLnczJ/s1936/IMG_1755.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTs4r192P6IYvroPgwUPyqtsLmbm-SfS8EzWM7IHJkoZ-ve3AvVEE1xW5ebKaEsLL80SLKlLm_aYv9RUs2omxSvd0unRokV51DmwbjttNLxZr7JIRUuVMYWi7sRR4AHxO5rRmDYKvLnczJ/s320/IMG_1755.JPG" /></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">A high foot is important so that the hand doesn't come in direct contact with the hip of the bowl, which can become quite hot to the touch when rice is freshly served! </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWwq96PHua882NYDTAkCuo8JpPG-tV4OMYNKqxprGd9zPLt5QkiO92sz0KPaqIFfcsLFayijrfQy9DVVgqftSr6s1ypuedovNdkv42TXO-oJmZsbDmgN1MDdaPGP51AP9weAWhxtQsuq1K/s2048/IMG_1756.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1530" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWwq96PHua882NYDTAkCuo8JpPG-tV4OMYNKqxprGd9zPLt5QkiO92sz0KPaqIFfcsLFayijrfQy9DVVgqftSr6s1ypuedovNdkv42TXO-oJmZsbDmgN1MDdaPGP51AP9weAWhxtQsuq1K/s320/IMG_1756.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">A vessel is not complete until it is in use. Every part of the process of making a pot is a step toward this objective. Even though each of those steps requires my full presence at the time and each task gives a unique sense of fulfillment, they are all part of a journey that culminates in a culinary event. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ueVwXPi5R10ui4yhEfjIZYiAM9XHbzwH-_rgv1mlhm5Lu9G1KQoPlGBcpDbug2DdHLDUvNMj9W6sFDAICCe6TXY53AUYqaxQ1VoKS5TzWoBq_Uwa1v_bduiKaxQm_qaLuSDIzI7HEl6p/s1936/IMG_1808.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ueVwXPi5R10ui4yhEfjIZYiAM9XHbzwH-_rgv1mlhm5Lu9G1KQoPlGBcpDbug2DdHLDUvNMj9W6sFDAICCe6TXY53AUYqaxQ1VoKS5TzWoBq_Uwa1v_bduiKaxQm_qaLuSDIzI7HEl6p/s320/IMG_1808.JPG" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Just as the food that comes to the table is the culmination of a process which begins with tilling the earth, and planting and nurturing the crop till it comes to harvest. Taking that harvest, planning and preparing each individual dish, balancing and combining flavours, colours and textures, then serving them into the perfect vessels. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0EF2ysIldvnQRnZrKrX8DSUsJLvHHb50W8ROd0pRAubdVYBuwzfALy35u6RcNQXEDw27sZlTSsjtHD982PtUNOhjO8-1WNW_YY85pmJacg70Il8MUMeQ5P3Ok3-dmBOHzEtW7JfpCfH4u/s1936/IMG_1807.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0EF2ysIldvnQRnZrKrX8DSUsJLvHHb50W8ROd0pRAubdVYBuwzfALy35u6RcNQXEDw27sZlTSsjtHD982PtUNOhjO8-1WNW_YY85pmJacg70Il8MUMeQ5P3Ok3-dmBOHzEtW7JfpCfH4u/s320/IMG_1807.JPG" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">A meal isn't just about filling your stomach, it is about nourishing body and spirit. It is about experiencing the sensory pleasure and the beauty of that moment. It is about sharing and being shared with.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQn-ZoanffKpTjfLZy04kaFpfihTQL026DapTLpD0WOqWd_0x-qh4AvtIJlf9bSyRvyFq0BTp7c6L_A_-nAKDfPTpVMgF6-YkCK20U27mumPzCqiB4Jo9L-Enavi666Aob4OL7RLBNhce/s1936/IMG_1816.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQn-ZoanffKpTjfLZy04kaFpfihTQL026DapTLpD0WOqWd_0x-qh4AvtIJlf9bSyRvyFq0BTp7c6L_A_-nAKDfPTpVMgF6-YkCK20U27mumPzCqiB4Jo9L-Enavi666Aob4OL7RLBNhce/s320/IMG_1816.JPG" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">This is always in my mind when I am making pots, whatever stage in the process that may be. It may seem to take an hour to prepare a meal, but it only seems that way. For every meal there are days, and weeks, and months, of often unseen preparation. And every vessel which I make and every meal I share with my loved ones has taken me a lifetime.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp4vqNBmn5cmsUAPBNvEFy46jDPxd04J6Q_rPwqVx0DNmZSubdHrcVZctcJ_Nyi1ECmz3SsdchJdiYqaHnVbPYQx04CXrUIi8ML0vBdEThQmMGocGc1193UV_ghNMfKUNDTbk_lHtPKoHF/s1936/IMG_1814.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp4vqNBmn5cmsUAPBNvEFy46jDPxd04J6Q_rPwqVx0DNmZSubdHrcVZctcJ_Nyi1ECmz3SsdchJdiYqaHnVbPYQx04CXrUIi8ML0vBdEThQmMGocGc1193UV_ghNMfKUNDTbk_lHtPKoHF/s320/IMG_1814.JPG" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">My son reminded me yesterday of something which I told him many years ago; that a potter is to the vessels they make as a tree is to it's leaves. We must make them in order to grow, they are expressions of our essential selves, but we give them up gratefully that they may become nourishment for others.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3GRAwNDvmAIio38iClGcL7huHHEAviEqqaBf8WmpOQF3FzhOS5y6MSwzItHuj4WC9IO8Np1Q8JlbNkk4bhlw8C30bFXsK188ckBC01BaKbtM4o9ubSCaO9zWJWzT0A3SH-QsMOUjM5xbl/s1936/IMG_1711.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3GRAwNDvmAIio38iClGcL7huHHEAviEqqaBf8WmpOQF3FzhOS5y6MSwzItHuj4WC9IO8Np1Q8JlbNkk4bhlw8C30bFXsK188ckBC01BaKbtM4o9ubSCaO9zWJWzT0A3SH-QsMOUjM5xbl/s320/IMG_1711.JPG" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">As a maker, I feel very grateful when others use my vessels with as much love and care as I did in making them. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfA9G3sPLtTDoLnQuMSRYeqDkb0fZFiuLZ6AOIPHsL1wQ-lYXBwb181Z_URy7thkeyvGNXrF6hVyBE80lMIx9rdEUJDlfm3wpBPunMj0JGUwyGa_veKoqEh_lCSHfHq18WVYtr37xxk9X1/s1936/IMG_1907.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfA9G3sPLtTDoLnQuMSRYeqDkb0fZFiuLZ6AOIPHsL1wQ-lYXBwb181Z_URy7thkeyvGNXrF6hVyBE80lMIx9rdEUJDlfm3wpBPunMj0JGUwyGa_veKoqEh_lCSHfHq18WVYtr37xxk9X1/s320/IMG_1907.JPG" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">We need beauty in our lives every day, to nourish our spirit as well as our body. In a world which is inundated with the artificial, isn't it nice to share something real?</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS4S7zPRbGpahFZAm-5R9HUGYqR9YsrG-sdmyfm56gLpCsug8cMeV6LpLJH_9iej0GalEEKwaM1GLefAu_hBW_ze-JBXw8C_zzF7F-wL2q8wJlR30JtJWr22qv-_mRodRaIve2ZDCzHdTE/s1936/IMG_1724.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS4S7zPRbGpahFZAm-5R9HUGYqR9YsrG-sdmyfm56gLpCsug8cMeV6LpLJH_9iej0GalEEKwaM1GLefAu_hBW_ze-JBXw8C_zzF7F-wL2q8wJlR30JtJWr22qv-_mRodRaIve2ZDCzHdTE/s320/IMG_1724.JPG" /></a></div></span><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">If you would like to own some of these works, I invite you to the opening of the <a href="https://euancraig.thebase.in" target="_blank">New Euan Craig Online Gallery</a>!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We open Today, Sunday the 4th till Sunday the 18th of July, 2021, with our First Exhibition of New Wood Fired Bowls, fresh from the Kiln! </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I have missed being able to exhibit at real world events over the past year and a half, mostly I have missed the conversations with friends and patrons, but this is a way to share my new works with everyone wherever you may be!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-14758527314670678552021-01-08T12:43:00.007+09:002021-01-19T11:42:45.702+09:00Libations<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;">The powdery snow creaks and groans as I shovel a path from the house to the kiln shed in the pale predawn light. I take special care on the stone steps, making sure they are free of snow before I walk on them, as once the snow is compacted it becomes ice, slippery and dangerous, and I will be walking this path many times today. This is the day of my “Hatsugama”, my first firing for the year.</span><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"> </span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX51ARMe4nTIT_F_q7RmkYfG5wspzyB62z4M4QpI7zfB4nb2dCTW0KIW6KvjMYHj1NIZRt6hZyoNTF6-eJEPymYCj5QTOicyaWqizz-7aCekf5wcSSSmgflTxKjUAO16ehJeqE9ranp4qk/s1936/IMG_0780.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX51ARMe4nTIT_F_q7RmkYfG5wspzyB62z4M4QpI7zfB4nb2dCTW0KIW6KvjMYHj1NIZRt6hZyoNTF6-eJEPymYCj5QTOicyaWqizz-7aCekf5wcSSSmgflTxKjUAO16ehJeqE9ranp4qk/s320/IMG_0780.JPG" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span><br /></span><p></p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br /><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px; text-align: center;">Returning to the house, I get the tray which I have prepared and carry it carefully to the kiln shed. On it are two sake cups from my last firing, a rice bowl with a handful of uncooked rice grains mixed with salt, a bottle of Nihonshu and a box of matches. The sake is a gift from an old friend, his favourite, a “Daiginjo” from Utsunomiya in Tochigi Prefecture, my old stamping ground. I open the bottle and pour sake into one of the cups, a cylindrical guinomi with strong throwing rings, a form based loosely on the shape of bamboo, filling it to the brim. A little of it spills on my hand as I lift the cup and place it on the brick beside the arch at the top of the door and the sweet fragrance of sake fills the kiln shed. The second guinomi is rounder, like an inverted shiitake mushroom, and I take it outside and fill it with freshly fallen snow. I place it carefully beside the first guinomi. Above them, on the metal frame of the kiln, is the “Kagami mochi” new year’s rice cake. I carry the rice bowl outside and sprinkle the mixture of rice and salt to the four compass points for protection and purification, then come inside and do the same in the four corners of the shed.</span></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px; text-align: center;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px; text-align: center;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px; text-align: center;"></span><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px; text-align: center;"> </span><br /></span><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoqgOCLc9s-2jKzja-Avy1yOH2DwX4jCj8y6Lnx3trymkdJBJpTTXfwcrtk5hesZ2r_k4LXu7ieZfSLCggBB3p4NednaDd4C7MtYT8LS1wTOCgrqvWjN41x2aVPzvxfnFr5l5jhIr3axLj/s1936/IMG_0810.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoqgOCLc9s-2jKzja-Avy1yOH2DwX4jCj8y6Lnx3trymkdJBJpTTXfwcrtk5hesZ2r_k4LXu7ieZfSLCggBB3p4NednaDd4C7MtYT8LS1wTOCgrqvWjN41x2aVPzvxfnFr5l5jhIr3axLj/s320/IMG_0810.JPG" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;">I pray.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;">I pray for a safe firing and a safe year. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;">I pray that the pots will be blessed with the beauty of the flame. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;">I pray for health, happiness, and peace for all my loved ones and all those who will use the vessels from this firing. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;">I pray for the wisdom to do what is right and good.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipOAOPVzJfiAzjrQ3A-406QXiFnGLI7CaKAw1zEwXZU3gWQf4N8gbvr9vzFrc9Ol30AO4yqRmwMdmIl36IiTq7u6HuZTb3ixZxbXUdLohalZsIu4qss75z9K0Oac9lq9_lrUs3bW6Cxtb2/s1936/IMG_0813.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipOAOPVzJfiAzjrQ3A-406QXiFnGLI7CaKAw1zEwXZU3gWQf4N8gbvr9vzFrc9Ol30AO4yqRmwMdmIl36IiTq7u6HuZTb3ixZxbXUdLohalZsIu4qss75z9K0Oac9lq9_lrUs3bW6Cxtb2/s320/IMG_0813.JPG" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;">It is six degrees below zero outside, but the pyrometer reads minus one inside the kiln as I pick up the matches. I strike one and put it to the tinder which I set under the fire grate in the mouth of each fire box when I finished stacking the kiln. As the fire starts to pop and crackle, I go around to the back of the kiln and open the damper fully to allow draft to flow through the kiln. It is imperative that the kiln heat slowly and evenly, as the pots inside the kiln are all raw, and although they have been thoroughly air dried, there will still be free water in the clay from humidity which must be driven from the clay without damaging the pots. Particularly in winter, when the kiln is below freezing, one must be careful not to crack kiln shelves as well by heating them too fast. Keeping the fire just inside the fire mouths means that the flame is at least a metre away from the pots inside, having to travel the length of the fire box before entering the ware chamber. Being on the floor of the ash pit, rather than on top of the fire grate, also prevents the fire from burning to ferociously as air is not able to be drawn from underneath. The bricks of the fire box and the floor of the ware chamber start to warm as the heated air and smoke is drawn through the stack of pots inside, circuiting down through the exit port in the floor of the chamber, between the twin fireboxes, and up through the chimney at the back. </span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.10000000149011612px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKApJ2aGITgFyzZrjwX0SDYe7U3MKb5uZiIWFu_xgVwFlvPobndt3PtTlaNNl9w9y_hq8Don6uRaepbLpUjb1nOh892WFdUn2C4rnyJXPXey4us3W8LN5UAmrBGQV-ZvlGhajAa1yOPQRp/s1936/IMG_0814.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKApJ2aGITgFyzZrjwX0SDYe7U3MKb5uZiIWFu_xgVwFlvPobndt3PtTlaNNl9w9y_hq8Don6uRaepbLpUjb1nOh892WFdUn2C4rnyJXPXey4us3W8LN5UAmrBGQV-ZvlGhajAa1yOPQRp/s320/IMG_0814.JPG" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;">Once satisfied that the wood is burning properly, I go back to the studio to mix a batch of soft fire clay slurry to seal the gaps between the bricks of the door. In a bucket I mix warm water and dry powdered “Dosembo” fire clay in about a 1:4 ratio to make it a thick porridge-like consistency. I stir with my hand so that I can feel it’s texture and make sure it is smooth and free of lumps. Carrying it back to the kiln shed, I start to smear it over the bricks of the kiln door with my right hand but leaving my left hand clean, carefully forcing the clay into and over the gaps to prevent draft from seeping through them between the bricks and sealing the kiln door. Starting from the bottom, I gradually work my way up, systematically and painstakingly. Sealing the door properly means that the only source of oxygen into the kiln is the fire mouth, and the only exit for exhaust fumes is the chimney or the spy holes. It therefore allows a much better control of the draft and atmosphere inside the kiln, either by adjusting the damper or by the amount of fire wood per stoke, the size to which it is split and the timing of each stoke. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw79Jkm5GVakJuFYKAhqW3UMIEXoNu1rrfnc-jq8iSvGjnd-u2ickomaylcfv_a4COfO493W_Im5TsiSCtJNw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br />
</span><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;">As I seal the door with my right hand, I keep a constant eye on the pyrometer to make sure the kiln doesn’t climb too quickly. This firing is starting from frozen, so I want it to climb at about seventy-five degrees celsius per hour, rather than the one hundred degrees an hour which I would fire to in summer. When the wood in the firebox has burned down to embers and the temperature starts to drop below the ideal gradient, I stoke five pieces of wood into each fire mouth with my clean left hand, then continue the sealing of the door with my right. At last the door is sealed, and I take the bucket with the remaining fireclay back the studio so that it doesn’t freeze solid, and wash my hands with soap and water before returning to the kiln. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIzpgmMwv2lyfizhz2e_jnW9qkgo30gCjsv-f1JKnW4bfR75mNQhGobFisSZnnvoEXQIjVpFLUaz5EklEI5D9m1cN6c6oPTYTU2xGx0Oztg3JqcBg1A7MaGNA1vgKv3_gppATuc4SBMpVN/s2048/IMG_0766.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1530" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIzpgmMwv2lyfizhz2e_jnW9qkgo30gCjsv-f1JKnW4bfR75mNQhGobFisSZnnvoEXQIjVpFLUaz5EklEI5D9m1cN6c6oPTYTU2xGx0Oztg3JqcBg1A7MaGNA1vgKv3_gppATuc4SBMpVN/s320/IMG_0766.JPG" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Venus, the morning star, shines brilliant in the ruby glow of false dawn above a jagged black horizon, and a shooting star streaks briefly through the fading indigo of night. The firing will continue through the day and into the night, gradually climbing in temperature until it passes thirteen hundred degrees. How I stoke and adjust the kiln will change during the day, and the pots within will undergo irreversible changes. But for now, not quite an hour and a half since I lit the kiln, it registers one hundred degrees on the pyrometer, and the snow in the curved guinomi is starting to melt, becoming water. The free water in the clay of the pots has all turned to steam and fled up the chimney into the atmosphere, and water vapour rises from the drying fire clay on the kiln door. Perhaps it will return to earth as snow again, a new and unrepeatable crystallization of the essence of water.</span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;">I am reminded of another firing, ten years past, a day of <a href="https://euancraig.blogspot.com/2011/02/fire-snow.html" target="_blank">fire and snow</a> just before the earthquake, when I spoke with my daughter about life and death. About how I believe that a human soul is to the universal soul as a snow flake is to the life giving water which pervades our world. Ephemeral and precious, we are fragments of spirit in the world looking at itself and finding meaning. The libations that I make are symbols of that, acknowledging the “Genius Loci”, the spirit of this place and the generations who have come before us. They symbolise the changing nature of the universe and help me recognise and show gratitude to the greater forces which I borrow in order to practice my craft, to live and breathe, to be. And the understanding that I, too, will one day return to that from which I came, and that this firing, this day, this moment, is a blessing that should be cherished. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;">And thus the year, the “Hatsugama”, the first firing, begins. Let’s pray that they turn out well, but let us also strive to make each moment, each action, the best that we can. For that is what defines us.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;">With these thoughts in my head, I stoke the kiln once more, and go back to the house for breakfast.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.10000000149011612px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.10000000149011612px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj17SZu6crAXPn6erIf09GbTaUpkuwh0Gn3tAFjXgdKcxkOkfYax5dP6UBqkG4LSv3_QbBp46cku7I9y8_Ood1JufF0ZTNP-DnqnNd78sEkmW2znXUSfy0lr3tUkmHELQSXpV8vauVvMy6J/s1936/IMG_0866.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj17SZu6crAXPn6erIf09GbTaUpkuwh0Gn3tAFjXgdKcxkOkfYax5dP6UBqkG4LSv3_QbBp46cku7I9y8_Ood1JufF0ZTNP-DnqnNd78sEkmW2znXUSfy0lr3tUkmHELQSXpV8vauVvMy6J/s320/IMG_0866.JPG" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p></div>Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-19297663292048427132021-01-01T17:44:00.002+09:002021-01-06T19:09:26.481+09:00Fulcrum<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: -0.1px;">Dawn breaks in the south east, beams of light reaching out across the valley, tinting the world in shades of red and gold. Countless flakes of snow falling gently through the air catch the light and send it sparkling across the landscape, as I stand by the warmth of the wood stove, mug of cappuccino in hand, and watch this morning’s overture through our front windows. A deep blanket of snow covers the world, the houses, the trees, the mountains, blurring the edges and sharpening the shadows. The snow shines lustrously in shades of pink and orange, glinting off the facets of innumerable crystals strewn over the garden. There is a quiet stillness in the world, even though it is full of the motion of the falling snowflakes and ever changing radiance of the sun in its inexorable journey across the sky.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8BMJrg0FPHqgJZMVybYtj5sGFSNhy6zKM3c_fyKTl74I_DuNj5ukixeDX1OBwQGZIF4aK82tNWRSk0OMBl4_R2HMOQgpSboVksWpWAwC3cVp8wnzBOA_UIl7H2nkuHZn1cdhOfLZc0plg/s1936/IMG_0669.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8BMJrg0FPHqgJZMVybYtj5sGFSNhy6zKM3c_fyKTl74I_DuNj5ukixeDX1OBwQGZIF4aK82tNWRSk0OMBl4_R2HMOQgpSboVksWpWAwC3cVp8wnzBOA_UIl7H2nkuHZn1cdhOfLZc0plg/s320/IMG_0669.JPG" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Perhaps it is just another sunrise in an endless string of sunrises stretching back to the beginning of the world. A thread that will continue forward until the world ends. But today, I am standing at the fulcrum between the past and the future, in the shelter of my pillar and post, wattle and daub cave, bearing witness to this unique iteration of the cosmic dance. As my portion of the earth’s ever rotating surface slides once again beneath the event horizon between night and day, out of shadow and into light, the bubble of swirling gasses that protects my home from the vacuum of space filters and refracts the sun’s radiance like a kaleidoscope of infinite variation. The whirling eddies of the flaming sea which covers the sun will never again glow exactly as it does right now, the earth will never spin through this self same spot, nor the clouds ever billow the same way. </span></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjld6pPtXFSZAO-VJYTPegg58KTVIM6Us6Qm6CKvXI37pKuENlWooH7QeOH0FKX71fJPwwrrx5kkQmvaEwCMJQa7O3mXKiMzGh0VzCPwIpR5g6zC_1wATCYZ8eMEtU4egSG6SxokvyuQn2i/s1936/IMG_0682.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjld6pPtXFSZAO-VJYTPegg58KTVIM6Us6Qm6CKvXI37pKuENlWooH7QeOH0FKX71fJPwwrrx5kkQmvaEwCMJQa7O3mXKiMzGh0VzCPwIpR5g6zC_1wATCYZ8eMEtU4egSG6SxokvyuQn2i/s320/IMG_0682.JPG" /></a></span></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Maybe it’s simply another fall of featureless white, like any other day in any other winter. Yet the drifts of snow are carved by the capricious wind, an ever changing accumulation of snow flakes beyond number. Flakes which have materialized from thin air up in the clouds, water condensing on motes of dust and freezing into hexagonal crystalline structures, no two the same. Floating on the breeze or driven by the gale, the earth pulls them gradually down where they gently settle upon her face. They gather into thick, deep layers, like precious gems, each one an unrepeatable experiment in possibilities. As I drink my coffee I marvel at the limitless variety of nature’s perfection.</span></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.10000000149011612px;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.10000000149011612px;"><br /></span></span><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZuVaatYkusV03_lapXS53ek8TRvXyYMPqTNbyPv0YvmScoij3ft6l9wpf0_qEAw_96vEgCNQUzaUxD8CgYXu_gBnZWtR95Y81Kwq6EMOpMniKcXGCdtnRJaj83QuVKQENh5qKt-GJ_mw/s1936/IMG_0692.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1936" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZuVaatYkusV03_lapXS53ek8TRvXyYMPqTNbyPv0YvmScoij3ft6l9wpf0_qEAw_96vEgCNQUzaUxD8CgYXu_gBnZWtR95Y81Kwq6EMOpMniKcXGCdtnRJaj83QuVKQENh5qKt-GJ_mw/s320/IMG_0692.JPG" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><p></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And to some, it’s just another mug, one of many hundreds that I have made over the years. But, if you pay attention, you will find that they are all unique. This mug is <i>this </i>mug. The handle is smooth within the grip of my fingers, rising from the rim and curving smoothly down to rejoin in a spiraling tendril at the base of the cup. Ash which has accumulated on the surface of the clay inside the wood kiln, much as the snow settles on the landscape outside, has melted into a rippling glass which coats the throwing rings and chattering, pooling in the hollows of the texture and running in a rivulet down the side of the mug to hang as a droplet just above the foot. Where the flow of the flame has left the surface untouched by ash, in the leeward side of the handle and the body, the clay has flashed orange and gold like the colours of the sunrise through the clouds. A few stalks of Igusa rush have left delicate strokes of dark ash where they were bound around the pot, like branches in the snow. Every touch of my fingers, every stroke of every tool, every lick of flame, is here in my hands as the coffee warms them through the walls of the mug, its fragrance filtering through the frothed milk and cinnamon sugar, its flavour thrilling my senses as it flows over my tongue.</span></span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Nature will always find a form which is in perfect harmony with the complex forces which are at work upon it. And that perfection has nothing to do with sameness or uniformity. There are no two snow flakes, no two leaves upon any tree, no two people throughout all of history, that have ever been the same. From the cosmic to the microcosmic, each and every one is a unique and unrepeatable moment in eternity, wondrous and precious. We humans, nature self aware, bear witness to that wonder, and can become part of the process which gives new form to that wonder. Even if it something as unassuming as a mug of cappuccino on a snowy morning.</span></span></p>Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-42782100564014449252020-01-21T10:55:00.000+09:002020-01-21T10:55:31.027+09:0030 Years<div style="text-align: center;">
The hazy crescent moon sails across the night sky, like a pale ship on a misty sea with no star to follow. Flakes of snow fall like motes of dust, settling on my shoulders and chest as I walk down the silent lane. I can feel them flutter against my right cheek, tiny spots of cold that tell me the breeze is blowing from the north. There are no shadows, though the eastern sky behind me is a subtly paler shade of charcoal grey, heralding the slow coming of morning. The sound of my own feet thudding softly on the bitumen becomes quieter as the snow begins to settle, and dark footprints follow my progress, gradually fading as the snow gently erases them to the nothing from which they came. </div>
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The snow is deeper as I walk down the west side of the valley, past the Taineiji Temple and beside "Byakkozawa" the White Fox Creek, and it complains squeakily beneath my feet, a rhythmic croak that echoes like some giant insect passing through the trees. Bamboo arches across the road above the village, the leafy heads of each stalk weighed down by the snow, making a dark tunnel through which I must pass. As I breach the bamboo a waft of breeze brings the fragrance of cows and straw and the consequences of such a confluence of forces. Ah! The joy of country life!</div>
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And now I come down the valley, the last stretch of road before home. The snow falls thicker now and, as I open my mouth to draw a sigh, a flake of snow lands sizzlingly cold on my tongue. I enter our driveway and carefully pick my way across the dark cobblestones, slippery with the snow melted by the warmth they had stored from yesterday's sun. I am home.</div>
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As I open the storm shutters the Town Public Address system chimes six o'clock and thirty years. For it was thirty years ago today, the 21st of January 1990, at 6:00 AM, that I first landed at Narita Airport and saw snow for the first time in my life. </div>
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It has been a long journey since then. Learning a whole new language and culture, studying at Shimaoka's in the thatched roof studio on a wooden kick wheel. Marrying Mika and building the new wood kiln. The blessed births of our four beautiful children, watching them grow. The burning down of the studio when we moved to the house in Ichikai, fitting into a new community there. Building a life there, only to have it destroyed by the earthquake of 2011. Starting from nothing again in Minakami and the help and support we had from so many people. And our children growing into adulthood here, gradually leaving the nest, one by one. It has been thirty years full of love and hope, laughter and tears, triumph and disaster and unrelenting optimism. And above all, love. The richest years of my life. </div>
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Now it is time to make breakfast and get the family moving, and my own wooden kick wheel is waiting in the studio for me.</div>
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I have come full circle, arriving in the snow at the break of dawn. But this time, I am home.</div>
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<br />Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-15922687123739394352020-01-14T11:04:00.000+09:002020-01-14T11:12:05.470+09:00Marking Time<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Time is elusive and capricious. It slips by when we aren't paying attention, only to ooze like cold treacle when it knows we are waiting. We have tried to measure it, quantify it and dissect it, but the tighter we try to grasp it the more it escapes through our fingers. Even physicists have failed to prove it exists and pass it off as an illusion. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yet, the days pass and light becomes dark, becomes light, becomes dark...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Each day is new and unrepeatable, and when we have accumulated three-hundred and sixty-five and a quarter of them we find we have managed to get through four whole seasons and are back to the same spot in our endless orbit around the sun. Many cultures, including Japan, work on an arbitrary system called the "Gregorian Calendar", dividing the year into 12 unequal months. We have marked the starting point of this annual cycle as about ten days after the solstice (Winter in the Northern Hemisphere and Summer in the Southern Hemisphere), naming it "New Year's Day". </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">We also number or name those years, perhaps so that we don't lose track of when we are, by a variety of systems. Though it may be 2020 AD in much of the world, here in Japan it is Reiwa 2, the second year of the reign of the Reiwa emperor. Though Japan adopted the Gregorian Calendar in the fifth year of the reign of the Meiji emperor (1873 AD, the same year that our house was built!), they have maintained a numbering system based on the Japanese Imperial Succession. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">So, though I was born in 1964 AD, I was also born in Showa 39 which, according to "Eto" (干支), the Japanese zodiac, is the Year of the Dragon. There are twelve animals in the cycle; Mouse, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit, Dragon, Snake, Horse, Sheep, Monkey, Rooster, Dog, and Boar. Not only that, but it appears that there are five elemental cycles of the twelve animals, thus the full cycle becomes sixty years. I am apparently a "Kudari ryuu", a descending dragon, just as my wife's Grandfather was. He was born in Meiji 37, 1904 AD, making him exactly 60 years my senior, and he lived to the ripe old age of 100, his mind as sharp as a knife to the very end. (Her Grandmother, incidentally, lived to be 102!) That is something worth aspiring to!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">My work has evolved over my career, of course, and there have been certain design elements in my work which indicate the period in which they were made, a change in the glazes, decoration or firing, the treatment of the foot perhaps, or the size or shape of my potters mark or whether it was intaglio or relief. These changes had always been random and I had never thought of them as a dating system. But I was having a discussion with one of my collectors some years ago about the chronology of the works which he has of mine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"It would be good to have some indication on the work of when it was made so that in the future we can see how your work developed." He said. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">This was food for thought...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">So I decided to start making some kind of mark on my work to locate it in the chronology of my life. I wanted the mark to be an intimate communication to those people who would use those works, something which may spark their curiosity and imagination, but which would tell a story about my one, finite life, even after I was gone. I have always set my sights on living to the age of 130, but, in all practical expectations, I may only last for a hundred years like Mika's Grandfather. And so it was that in 2006 I carved a small dog into the end of a wooden rod and my Eto series began.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Each year since then my first task has been to create my new Eto stamp. Sometimes made from wood, sometimes metal, every one is an original hand crafted design. Often I will carve a different year into the other end of another stamp, pairing the animals together on the same shaft. </span></div>
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Every vessel which I make is unique, of course, but of all the years that I have been doing this Eto series, the Year of the Rabbit is rarest. In 2011 I was only able to fire 3 times...</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I entered the second set in 2018, and this year's stamp is the second "Nezumi" in the full sixty year cycle. “Nezumi” means “Mouse” in Japanese and the word for “Rat” is specifically “Dobu Nezumi”, which translates literally as “Gutter Mouse” (which is practically “Sewer Rat”). Though Japan and China both use Kanji Characters, the form, pronunciation and meanings are often different. I suspect that the “Year of the Rat” came directly into English from the Chinese.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">This year I am using an aluminium rod, with skills I learnt in Australia at High School to drill, file and polish the new mouse. In order to differentiate, I have made this year's face in the opposite direction to the last mouse, 2008 being a left facing Nezumi when stamped on the pot, and the new Nezumi facing right. Every vessel which I make this year will bear this stamp alongside my maker's mark. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">These stamps are as much a part of my work as any other process, and I make them with the same care and passion that give all of the different facets of my life. Today is the culmination of all the years, months and days of my life, and everything which I have learned over those years. All of my experiences, good and bad, are a part of who I am. Yet I know that I stand in the middle of a story, the beginning of which I cannot remember and the end of which I can only imagine. The things I learn today will become part of my work and life for all the years left to come. If all goes well, this project will complete it's first full cycle in 2066, when I am 102. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Plenty of time to think about what I might do after that...</span></div>
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<br />Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-82677863511597086362020-01-01T18:27:00.000+09:002020-01-09T18:28:49.768+09:0020/20 : A New Vision<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I coax the embers of last night’s fire into life in the firebox of the wood stove and stoke it in preparation for cooking breakfast. It is traditional here in Japan to start the year with a breakfast called "Ozohni" (お雑煮), a simmered soup of daikon, carrot and Omochi rice cake, made with the first drawn water of the year. The recipe varies by region and by household, and this year ours includes locally grown Shiitake mushrooms and Yuzu (Citron), with shrimp for good luck and long life. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The bent back of the shrimp represents the stooped posture of old age, thus becoming a symbol of long life. Also, the Japanese saying "Ebi de Tai wo tsuru" (海老で鯛を釣る) means to "cast a shrimp to catch a sea bream". That generally means to "profit largely from a small investment", but much Japanese symbolism is based on puns, and a "Tai" (Sea Bream) is often used as a ceremonial offering to represent "Omedetai", meaning happy, joyous or auspicious. So, we serve shrimp to bring us happiness and longevity. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqAF-1LkUydXTTpI0yawX1EvRZrBKTXbUYgn0tZMZdunnHaYJMEvoSLFZaMAaAgWSBPZIBwrrM-NT1Z7cdUdINrhlLrVQDXvRNSenioHjSM1B5b5591oTbB8IXV3cvzT_p-iBY5Z4BogdO/s1600/IMG_8818.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This is our seventh winter in this house, and though the children are growing into adults and one by one leaving the nest to build their own lives, we are blessed to have everyone home over New Year. It is a celebration of our journey thus far and holds promise for a bright future. Sharing our stories of the year past, our hopes for the future, talking, laughing, occasionally crying. Playing games together, both traditional and new. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The main meal on New Years Day is "Osechi Ryouri"(御節料理), traditionally served in a three tiered vessel called a "Sandanju" (三段重). Each layer contains different types of food which can be eaten over the New Year without having to spend time cooking. Which means everyone can enjoy the fun! We share the festive fare just as we share our lives, and the food and the vessels are prepared with love to nourish both body and soul.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This year is 2020, the year of the mouse. I hope that it will bless us with the "20/20" vision to forge a better future. To clearly see what is within our control and what is not. To recognise those things which are conditions to our lives, as the earth moves on beneath the bowl of heaven and the seasons turn. And to take right action when we are faced with new challenges that we can change, however difficult the path, with the courage of a mouse that will bite a cat when the need comes. The past is a turned page which cannot change, but from which we can learn and grow in wisdom. Today and the future are ours to write, and even in the bitter cold of winter we can still make our home a warm haven for the people we love. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I wish everyone a safe and blessed year!</span></div>
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<br />Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-33549973026557033602018-10-08T16:26:00.001+09:002019-02-05T16:23:09.395+09:00Dragonflies<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Throwing off the hump is an ancient skill. Most of the techniques used in ceramic art are. It seems we have a tendency, however, to either venerate and shroud ancient and exotic things in veils of mysticism or denigrate them as being primitive and unsophisticated. I for my part doubt that we humans have evolved, or devolved for that matter, a great deal in the last ten thousand years. It is comforting and encouraging to think that ordinary humans, not so different from you or me, should be capable of creating the wonders of the ancient world with simple and ingenious tools made with their own hands. We moderns tend to outsmart ourselves, needing the right designer built tool for the right designer built job and hang the expense. More often than not I find myself bemused by the complex and clumsy paraphernalia available in tool stores. Having effective and accurate tools does not need to be either difficult or expensive.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have heard said that “If you can’t make a board of pots that are all the same then you are not a potter, you are an improviser”. An uncompromising viewpoint, but valid in its way. Most certainly the ability to make pots which are uniform in size and shape is vital, but the next logical step is to go beyond that and make pots which are a set regardless of shape and size.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The solution for potters in the west for uniformity when making pots on the wheel was throwing to a point. When throwing off the hump however the volume of clay on the wheel is constantly decreasing and so a set point in space in relation to the wheel head is meaningless. The oriental potters answer was the “dragonfly”, or “<i>tombo”</i> in Japanese. This simple tool measures the diameter at the rim of a pot, and the internal depth at the same time. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Traditionally this tool would have been whittled from aged and dried bamboo, and a new dragonfly would be made specifically for each sized vessel to be thrown. The result of this is, of course, that one begins to accumulate an ever increasing stock of Tombo, and it becomes frustrating when one searches for a specific size among the flocks of bamboo dragonflies. </span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have seen kits for Tombo in shops, even in Mashiko, which other professional potters agree are virtually useless. And they are not cheap. There must be a better way.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">My solution was to carve bamboo from our grove into a single dragonfly body with sets of </span>interchangeable<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> wings and legs in incremented sizes. It is then a simple task to assemble the tombo for each new shape by selecting the appropriately sized wings and legs from the set, and then returning them after each throwing session.</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But who in the west has access to such materials? </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I suggest that you take a walk through your local Asian grocer, or China town if it is convenient. You will find packets of inexpensive wooden or bamboo chopsticks, I prefer the Japanese style, shorter and more tapered and with square ends. There will usually also be bags of bamboo skewers, in two lengths but the same diameter, which is usually 3.2 millimeters, but check just in case. Now go to your local hardware store and buy a 3.2ml drill bit. In the thick end of the chopsticks drill two holes, perpendicular to each other, and slightly offset. If you slot the skewers through the holes and cut the length to the diameter and depth that you require your pot to be in its wet state, you now have enough tombo to last you a lifetime.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Let’s work on a standard Japanese lidded rice bowl as an example. The diameter finished should be about 13.5 cm. If your clay has 10% shrinkage then your wet diameter should be about 15cm (15 minus 1.5 equals 13.5). Cut one of your skewers to the exact diameter that you want your wet pot, that is, 15cm. Poke that through one of the holes in your chopstick so that it is sticking out equally on both sides. This is your horizontal diameter measure. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The depth of a rice bowl should be about 5.8cm, so your wet depth should be about 6.5 (6.5 minus .65 equals 5.85). Insert a skewer through the perpendicular hole till its tip is 6.5cm from the horizontal skewer. Now hold the pointy end of the chopstick, as if it were the tail of a dragonfly, with the 15cm skewer horizontal, like a dragonfly’s wings, and the 6.5cm skewer pointing down like the legs of a dragonfly. If you place this tool over and into your bowl, the tips of the horizontal skewer will measure the rim diameter and the vertical skewer will measure the internal depth. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I would usually leave the end of the vertical skewer sticking out the top a little so that the tool could be flipped over and used to make shallow dishes. The <i>“tombo”</i> for the slightly smaller female rice bowl, for example, is 13cm in diameter and 5.5cm in depth, but I leave the top extended about 1.5cm. Shallow dishes made with this <i>“tombo”</i> are quite a convenient size for small serves of condiments or, when inverted, will fit neatly inside the larger rice bowl to form a lid.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The sharp end of a skewer is also an excellent needle tool, and the narrow end of a chopstick is a very good pegger, a tool used to compress the join lines, where spouts are attached to teapots for example. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The <i>“tombo”</i> is a simple and elegant tool, and, once used to it, requires no more time than a pointer and far less than measuring calipers. Any measure, however, only provides you with the parameters of a form, not the profile.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Depending on the tools which one uses to eat, the surface and form of a pot varies a great deal. For many pots in Japan where chopsticks are used an uneven surface with heavy throwing rings is perfectly acceptable. A rice bowl, however, should be smooth so that the rice can be gathered together easily with chopsticks. It is therefore necessary to smooth the throwing rings from the profile and provide a regular curve in the bowl with a throwing rib.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Traditionally throwing ribs are made from slow growing, fine grained hard fruit woods like cherry, and they are beautiful. No matter how hard or fine grained a wood is though, after a thousand pots the grain will begin to stand out where the soft parts wear away. The surface area increases, as does the drag on the pot. That may be fine for thick pots made of coarse clay, but for finer clay and lighter pots the drag promotes distortion in the fired work. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Flexible stainless steel ribs are less distorting, but tend to cut the surface slip off and “raise the grain”, so to speak, of fine clays, opening the surface rather than compressing it. I prefer throwing ribs made of Perspex or aluminium, grainless and resilient, but wearing to a soft edge which allows the slip to remain on the surface. The edge will compress the clay and bring the finer particles to the surface without undue drag and with considerably less distortion.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The most economically effective solution is to go to your local variety store and purchase the cheapest plastic protractor and set square set available. The curve of the protractor is perfect for internal curves and the set squares are ideal for external surfaces. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One of the problems many potters encounter with throwing off the hump is “S” cracking. Quite often we tend to attribute this to insufficient compression in the base of the pot, but there are other issues. To firstly deal with compression at the centre of a pot, the easiest answer is to leave a bump in the centre of the pot when throwing the initial form, which one then presses out when finishing the profile with a throwing rib. The extra lump of clay is pressed into the centre of the pot giving what should be sufficient compression. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The other, and what I believe is the main, cause of “S” cracking is uneven drying. Clay in it's wet state is extremely flexible, so if the rim of a pot dries quickly, shrinking as it does, the wet base will flex to meet it. As the base dries, however, the rim is now inflexible and so the base must shrink <i>out</i> to meet it, shrinking away from the centre, and the stress relieves itself in an “S” shaped crack across the centre of the pot. Base thickness also affects this for the same reason, as a thick base dries slower than a thin foot ring. The best ways to fix this are to slow down the drying of pots in a damp room or under plastic, keeping them out of the breeze, or to maintain a base thickness equivalent to the wall of the pot, or both.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">During the wet season in Japan pots can take weeks to dry, often going moldy before they are firm enough to trim. This is of course the ideal time for making pots that require handles or assembly, as the slow drying minimizes the possibility of cracking.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For deeper forms, green tea cups (Yunomi) or bottle forms, a long handled throwing rib called a <i>“Kotte”</i> is necessary, if you require the pot to be smooth on the inside. One presses it from the inside of the pot, supporting the wall from the outside with ones hand, to define and compress the internal profile. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Although chamois leather is the preferred material for smoothing rims, a piece of plastic cut from a clay bag will smooth rims equally well and at far less expense. A friend of mine puts a layer of silicon on the edge of his sponge to smooth his edges, curling it over the rim after he has removed the excess slurry from the inside of his pot. Any sponge will do. I rarely use a chamois personally, finding that, with the fineness of my porcelain blend, the skin of my fingers is quite smooth enough. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The long and the short of it is that no great expense needs to be spent on tools in order to make good pots on the wheel. The simplest of tools, the cheapest and most accessible of materials, found objects even, can be used to achieve high levels of craftsmanship. What is necessary is a mastery of self and a level of skill which can only be achieved by persistence and practice. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Tradition is merely a system of education by which accumulated experience is passed down from generation to generation. It should not be a set of rules which restricts our creative process, but rather a support system that sets them free. Too often we mistake tradition for being an emulation of the past, forgetting that any form of emulation is by definition less than the original. Emulation is only useful as a learning tool, as is repetition. In the Japanese Sensei-deshi (Teacher-disciple) system of passing on tradition, the onus is not on the sensei to teach, but on the deshi to learn. What to do and how to do it can be learned by observation. Mastery of those skills can only come from experience. Understanding can only come from asking “Why?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> It is very easy to be blinkered by the periphery and paraphernalia of an art or craft, to not see the forest for the trees. It is not the tools that make great pots. Not the wheels, be they made of zelkova (keyaki) wood or aluminium; be they kick wheels or electronic drive. Not the throwing tools whether they are made of <i>“sakura” </i>(cherry wood) or bamboo or plastic. Not even the kiln, if it uses twenty tons of red pine or 400kg of scrap. What makes a great pot is a potter working in collaboration with the forces of nature, sloughing off the detritus of convention and addressing the issue of what it is to be human, a part of nature, expressing ones self through clay. </span></span></div>
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Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-89167797510733112562017-01-06T16:27:00.001+09:002017-01-06T20:12:04.616+09:00Epiphany<div>
Deep and crisp and even...the snow has made it's way right up to the front wall of the house, despite the wide eaves, and it crunches beneath my feet as I open the storm shutters. The sun rising in the south east is like a thumb smudge of yellow ochre on the slate grey sky, and a dust of fine snow flakes wafts on the breeze. Yuletide is ending, a new year has begun.</div>
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The cat greets me with a mewl which undulates in rhythm with his trotting steps as he leaves a dotted line of footprints in the snow. Brushing briefly against my legs, he slides past me through the front door as I take a few logs of firewood from the stack beneath the kitchen window. I knock the snow from them before I carry them into the house. Placing one of them on the chopping block on the earthen floor of the studio I split it into kindling, firstly with the heavy axe, then finer with my "nata", the Japanese hatchet. I gather up the kindling and the splinters and chips from around the chopping block, take the firewood into the living room and place it on the hearth. </div>
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I scrape the ash from yesterdays fire through the grate into the ash pit below. There are still a few embers, glowing feebly in the dim of the fire chamber, and I gather them together in the middle of the grate. After positioning a large piece of wood on each side of the fire box, I sprinkle the splinters and wood chips onto the embers between them, then fine kindling on top, thicker kindling on top of that and finally a larger piece diagonally across the whole stack. Closing the firebox, I remove the ashes into a metal scoop and take it out to the dirt floor to cool safely, leaving the ash pit door cracked slightly open to let in extra draft. </div>
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Watching through the glass of the firebox door as the embers begin to revive, the cherry red gradually turns orange and spreads into the black charcoal. The splinters begin to char, the embers glow yellow. A spark flies, the chips begin to smoke and pop. Flame suddenly spurts from a splinter and begins to spread through the chips and into the kindling, hungry, feeding, growing. The logs begin to burn and I close the ash pit door, leaving the air vent open. The rest of the family will be stirring soon. Now, I can start cooking breakfast.</div>
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The scene is set, and sometimes the scene is all we need. Each day, I take notice of the present, the little things that life presents to me. Life is made up of such moments, and the more meaningful we make those moments the richer our lives will be. It is the accumulation of these experiences and our interpretation and understanding of them that makes us who we are. Great hope and inspiration can be found in the simplest of things. Even something as mundane as lighting the fire and cleaning the ash. No matter how insignificant our efforts may seem, from those embers of hope a flame may grow, and who knows how far that flame may spread.</div>
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Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-54783480690621164252015-04-02T00:41:00.001+09:002015-04-22T07:55:11.016+09:00Through the Looking Glass<p><br></p><p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiELpxKzy_tXHnTP0DIzF3DbiFPWPoWeZwCyFiSwdMVeJUEFeq7RQu9LTifd-yB5zP9EN11YbiRcsC3bP2X-xR1uHXKxWj6vpjfH7VrCb2pYIFOD4ymIZ_lgpMJj7Ci1sp4gJbG12PxAOsA/" style="width: 450px; height: 337px;"><br></p><p>I can feel the scritch and scratch of pencil on paper vibrating through the long wooden table as it sit, my own pencil poised motionless, staring into space. Sora sits to my right with her biology homework spread before her on the kitchen table, while Canaan studies his english grammar at the end of the table facing me. The rhythm of the vibration changes suddenly from a complex harmony to a solo performance, and slowly I realize that Canaan has stopped writing and is staring me in the face. </p><p><br></p><p>"Yes?" He asks expectantly.</p><p><br></p><p>"Sorry, son." I respond, "I wasn't really looking at you, you just happened to be in my line of sight. I was actually looking at that essay over there on the future horizon, trying to work out what it says."</p><p><br></p><p>"Ah, yes." He nods sagely, with all the wisdom of his fifteen years, "Common phenomenon, I do it all the time." </p><p><br></p><p>Writing is a way of sharing our thoughts on why we do what we do. Whether it is writing for a blog or for magazines, or just a letter to a friend or loved one, it can help us to understand each other better, and even to understand ourselves. It is not necessarily easy, though, to find the right words, even if you know what it is that you want to say. It is also quite difficult to be objective about our own words, because we are so close to them, and sometimes we need the help and advice if others to help us communicate clearly.</p><p><br></p><p>Over the years I have published articles and essays in a dozen magazines, not only in Australia and Japan, but in the US, UK, Holland and Germany. One of the most enjoyable parts of that has always been the dialogue with the various editors and the process that brought those thoughts to print. </p><p><br></p><p>The idea of ever being an editor myself had not really occurred to me until Jack Doherty, my potter friend from the UK, contacted me as "Guest Editor" of Ceramic Review last year. He requested an article from me about my experiences as a traditional Japanese deshi with Shimaoka sensei for a special feature on training to be a professional potter. Corresponding with Jack and the staff editor was so much fun, I began to wonder what it might be like on the other side of the looking glass.</p><p><br></p><p>While writing an article last year for Vicki Grima, the editor of the Journal of Australian Ceramics, I noticed on the website that they were also looking for a guest editor. When I visited Sydney in May and did a lecture and demonstration at the National School of Art, I mentioned it to her.</p><p><br></p><p>"I suppose it would be impossible for somebody in Japan to be guest editor?" I said in jest.</p><p><br></p><p>"No!" She said. "I don't see any problem with that."</p><p><br></p><p>And so it was that a few weeks later I received an email from her asking me to propose a few themes for a special feature in the magazine. Of them, "The Function of Art; The Art of Function" seemed to strike the right chord and I found myself, passing through the looking glass, the guest editor of the Journal of Australian Ceramics, April 2015.</p><p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZPZfsn7doz6xaBHeB7x1N-JH5YiLwSN8jg_ddVxPcwLsaRg2rMF4R3_dHgrk79WERNXaXZ9yCBhcqTyJNSCcjXIEjgDy9C8ompCTOlgFzD2PdxcQ7TCsmWKdAq6TlpNYiqipHV09X4vNn/" style="width: 400px; height: 535px;"><br></p><p>I have not been involved in the Australian ceramic scene for 25 years, except for a few rare visits and snippets of news from potter friends, so it seemed a great opportunity to discover what was happening. We sought out professional potters from each state of Australia, trying to get a representative cross section.A few Australian potters working overseas, and potters born overseas but working in Australia as well, to give perspective. Some were potters whose work and ideas I had always admired and wanted to know more about. Some I have known for many years, others were new to me and there was a great sense of discovery in finding the right mix. Although it was important to work within the theme, it was also vital that the feature had variety and "texture" (a great piece of advice from the editor of Ceramic Review!). We sent out requests for submissions by email, I managed to speak to a few contributors in person at the European wood fire conference in Denmark, and gradually the crew came on board. </p><p><br></p><p>The articles started coming in. By the deadline at the start of February we had them all and editing began. Some were too long, needing to be whittled down to fit the page count. Others were hard to follow at first, though I knew what the author was trying to say, and needed to be rearranged so the message was clearer. None of them were what I had expected, but all of them were written with sincerity and passion. It was a daunting task, trying to help these ideas reach the reader as clearly as possible within the space available and keeping the integrity of the original words. I would make adjustments, alterations, suggestions, and send them back to the authors for their approval, adjustment or rejection. All of this while the Hamada Noborigama project was in full swing! It was not easy, and I made mistakes. With Vicki's advice and help, dozens of emails, several Skype conferences, and the cooperation and effort of all the authors, we finally had the articles together. </p><p><br></p><p>All of the articles were then sent to a professional proof reader, and once again they were corrected and tweaked, going back and forth across the ether between Japan and Sydney. Eventually, when all the T's were crossed and I's were dotted, the final texts were sent to Vicki to start the layout.</p><p><br></p><p>The next challenge was finding the right images, from the many that were sent by the authors, to tell the story visually. We occasionally asked for different photos, or higher resolution images, to illustrate the ideas which the authors were trying to convey and to highlight them. Using dropbox and online photo sharing sites we were able to view and select high resolution images from opposite sides of the globe, and the graphic designer put them together in Sydney. We could then look at the layout, suggest changes and different cuts, until each article came into clear focus and all of them pulled together into a complex whole.</p><p><br></p><p>And last of all, the cover. We needed an image that would either wrap around the whole cover, or two images which worked together as a composition front and back. Despite asking for extra images from contributors and sifting through the images we hadn't already used, we couldn't find an image with a high enough resolution, or with the right composition or content to represent the feature issue. The deadline was upon us. </p><p><br></p><p>As I polished the shell marks on the feet of the Chawan tea bowls from the Hamada kiln, readying them for use in the tea ceremony, I thought about the cover. A book, a magazine, isn't just about the front cover. Or the back cover. Or the words. Or the images. It is a whole, which ultimately finds completion in the hands and through the eyes of the reader. Just like a tea bowl, where the foot is as important as the face, and where the vessel finds completion in the making and drinking of the tea. And yet we rarely see the underside of vessels in magazines, or see them in use. What if...</p><p><br></p><p>I chose the best of the tea bowls from the Hamada kiln, marked with rope which was hand braided for me from a single strand of silk by the son of the rope maker who made Shimaoka sensei's ropes. I boiled a cast iron kettle on the charcoal brazier in the studio and prepared green tea, using a tea caddy I had made to fit an antique ivory and gold lid which Miyake san at Ebiya Gallery in Tokyo had given me. By the natural light from the windows beside the wheel deck I photographed the bowl. From above, as one see's it when making tea, in context, and then inverted, for the foot is always inspected during the tea ceremony, and sent the images to Vicki. </p><p><br></p><p>We had a Skype conference the following day and, as we discussed the options, the graphic designer tried the tea bowl images out, trying to get them as close to actual size as possible. It seemed to work, but we needed an extra note in the editorial to explain the cover photo. </p><p><br></p><p>Now, I wait to see the finished magazine. It has gone to print, Vicki and friends "bagged the mag" yesterday, and it is on the way to the readers now. I hope you enjoy it! I will not see it myself until the mail gets here from Australia next week. It has been a wonderful experience, and I understand so much more about writing, writers, editing and publishing than I ever did before, though I know this has been just a glimpse. Thank you for the opportunity, thank you to all the contributors, and thank you to Vicki, Suzanne and Astrid. </p><p><br></p><p>Somewhere between the scratching of pencils at the top of the page and now, paper gave way to iPad, the kids have finished their homework and gone to bed, and I have discovered what that essay in the distance says. And so, apparently, have you. </p><p><br></p><p><br></p><p><br></p>Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-6508481639779532892015-03-20T17:55:00.001+09:002015-03-20T23:52:29.537+09:00Mashiko Mingei<p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwbiR7DAqJ9-1MLS9ty9Kx7-wZryJKjyUoaiWKDMC5RWK9_x3F2ThzGW1kWx21SkUHF4B6x1sRupepsGDFDC9Aof1dOybef7IrPZoYdzK6gnYKz2D_mwGG3-PALRiqn6SHfqELVClaBBCW/" style="width: 400px; height: 266px;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;">The sun rises golden over the horizon as I open the shutters at 6:00am this morning. Today is the vernal equinox and the seasons have finally begun to turn here in Minakami. Fukinoto are pushing their green buds out of the leaf mulch below the mulberry trees and the peaches and plums are threatening to blossom. We get the children up and share breakfast together before sending them off to their various schools. I load up the truck and head off to Mashiko.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI1aFySioQrPr3Pf7It66lgeLnDpXUtK-sx48EstwcgZV4ZjXy_OLCy9mln9qTruC1yMqOGqItCoKHC6O1N67bT00eWZ3LiyvQd6eT6kTcO48T66o4QriBHmyVPvxd6FBwZYricJsDObsK/" style="width: 400px; height: 266px;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBX5ZwUDMGBctZlrEqIAl0fhILQbH06xBbQFBN6zNuXUTNSg8_RtWZZJ7rG_GnU0hewcCgz9aIXdcjv3T3IDPgDzrM4YS4AEWiekNXCippuFIe0Cj8GeXUHonymaWdHUmZxdYMBNFreUMj/" style="width: 400px; height: 266px;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;">As I descend from the mountains the signs of spring become clearer, and by the time I reach Shibukawa the plums are in full blossom. Fields are being ploughed and crops sewn. The sun is bringing new life back to the land.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpzM5rXW-XQtakw9VEVNyW__YLAV2CszwdThN0oKtaHuz9lwmepRbTZo7f4-ucLfLPbyrIJzzS132JtxYC9-OVtZS0g2_qCPKtMuPkTktPaURf-7arvxsHsecAwcHuBj70JdjxA1onJ8z8/" style="width: 400px; height: 266px;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4roKJfy0ayN-lyKdDXkMvkIe4ZZIvdZxquhv6T7o3OIK64iew-s4RD0TEc77vYJ9tEfG3I0fn_7NAAx43SS10HfIHKm1XOPZzGNlkmNr96Xgyy77M-ly2cc_7e6-cTT51sa1u1mZ8SMBz/" style="width: 400px; height: 266px;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;">My main task today is to deliver twenty pieces of my work from the Hamada Noborigama to the Tsukamoto Gallery for the Members Exhibition of the Japan Mingei Association Tochigi Chapter. The exhibition starts tomorrow, March 21st, and goes until April 1st. There is another exhibition happening simultaneously at the Kyouhan 6 gallery of the work of most of the other Mashiko participants in the firing, but I have chosen not to split my work this time.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi74PXMxHOC-1kler8VGUJZr9KnNN7rex8fEIGJGgQIQ2kmCnMvOEucM3NqfGu8cjLKnqQI__jrHWw7OtaIXrcr9-CU_H-3ECqrRWIwolIHRzZVk2kvwphkXDGVpMY1mjMw4xnTnEoLZtIr/" style="width: 400px; height: 266px;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;">It means a great deal to me to be a member of the Mingei association, for it was Mingei and the life and work of Shoji Hamada which inspired me to come to Japan. It continues to give great focus to my own life. Though Shoji Hamada had passed away before I came to Mashiko, I was fortunate to be able to apprentice to his disciple, Tatsuzou Shimaoka, a national living treasure in his own right. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_9xXClBkWiIMKmNvuTWwZx7uojXY94gvC02fraoxnnDfhQRTz1w7PSIrdVwf5rBDJBWheSapeqqBRJ7kTQJg5m0uZ-n5ORKyDw5jiQTlIoDJkHeNgEnscoJombhiR4QWvkDFV2QgPYhrM/" style="width: 400px; height: 600px;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;">The time I spent at Shimaoka's was precious, working in the thatched studio with it's earth floor, paper screens and wooden shutters for windows. I learned to throw on the kick wheel, to foot wedge and decorate with silk ropes in the Jomon style. I was taught so many things about tradition, but also about combining that with the skills and modern science and reinterpreting them in a way which is relevant to the modern world. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgISV7gmjjffnDM0vRl54RKdlJR4PCXWP70Uxf0YUpo4SR7fsMFc2bZt78YdGnnlQNj1L9Glum4bv9LnNDkpuCh92RNgoSOpLsXmryb3cmh6Z1V3XCVw0rAgTlL0nu0smhL0vH2mALQjWOW/" style="width: 400px; height: 600px;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;">It was a great period of growth for me, striving to master the Japanese language as well as a whole range of shapes and techniques. Making everything from Yunomi green tea cups, Guinomi sake cups and Tokuri sake bottles, through coffee sets and tea sets to dinner plates, all to Sensei's exacting standards, all marked with his personal stamp. Perhaps the greatest lesson was humility, for a deshi is no more than an extension of the masters hands.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt80_77yQWCTT3zzKxQHpRpBbWY_lFd9VcsB8ZbUHENg-XyNWEXGAXtkp-UO4WKxq6IWJQ9SiB0m65qyOlActUHdwZCieL0rnAogGXbs7mpmYPUMe8X0r1I6cg38H9ckj70TUMoTA-vA4L/" style="width: 400px; height: 600px;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;">I treasured most those times I spent alone with Sensei in his private studio, talking about mingei, about art and life, about his experiences as a foot soldier in Burma and a prisoner of war, and his time as a deshi with Hamada after the war. He told me about Hamada coming to his firings after he had graduated and saying, "Shimaoka, you must find your own style!"</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"> <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic8o9CwPxZSF4INqr91uAqiHTCHumsPiqFnGUJmjpQ2c1hNM5TQVq6p0Y1Ogs6zUx8hOX2SUNRn7L3awagU9AciF9EJZ3FrFhmb9gitZULhwiSG3iG9gnSTGhGzCDCU06LotRSMskSqUx7/" style="width: 400px; height: 600px;"></p><p style="text-align: center;">After I graduated, I took a "meoto" pair of yunomi from my first firing as a gift to Sensei. "Hmm," he said, "They're alright." He would sometimes come to my exhibitions or my display at the Mashiko pottery festival and even buy a piece or two. It was always encouraging, but I suspected that encouragement may have been his intention and wondered whether he really liked my work or not.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-cV4w0KkxOdfoiqKiTbz3vdS7zs0jNw_DOsEajBo4H_IErkX-ZdAgT8vrIhBIE5zL4lkPjYKM1U4nMMzhhz9iuFocD__CaPLMbAO7xzb0GK4brZKl7XTkTUvl8oy7noH2s25TWxWCzBfC/" style="width: 400px; height: 266px;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCS2mf0m8FhWru1Pwm2kkpqzyZcNTmFpwb9wB2fUkDotN3meK4y7WjbFHHBnj5wFXAMBttVWVj2G_wNM7zd7xWyrs1iLgV96cQRsSsVdK7e_UWf0XH5pwzcdSjz7mmhRfDIEuzVqZQfwHv/" style="width: 400px; height: 266px;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;">A few days ago my friend and "younger brother" deshi, Lee Love, sent me a photograph from America. He had been sorting through photos which he had taken in 1993 when he first visited Shimaoka sensei's studio, long before Lee knew me or my work. Among the photos was one of the shelf in front of the shoji screen window in sensei's studio. There is a portrait photo, leaning against the shoji, of Shimaoka as a young man. In front of it is a row of pots; one of his own early Jomon Zougan inlayed rope decorated vases, a salt glazed bottle and a jug which I don't recognise, and one of the guinomi Sake cups which I made while I was a deshi...alongside my two Yunomi. His face in the photograph seems to be gazing intently at my yunomi, and I realise that he really did think that my work was "alright". </p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtriZ9sv1CGnlWb2B6P4l2cG4KBA8sWAzBN61oTe45LzkSC8EFBnh-8TH9TiLgKMs8ayHbuO-N1AcFrhkS9h3YV5bAHZoGajTeV1qvukvEAi8Z6wOXbgHb1bJIMFasv1Kz-lcWUnJheTfa/" style="width: 400px; height: 276px;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;">I deliver my work to the gallery, 20 of the best selected from the 140 which I had the privilege of firing in the Hamada kiln. Mashiko was my home for over twenty years, and though I am still a part of that extended community, I am not sure that I can continue to be called a Mashiko potter for long. There is no doubt, however, that I am a mingei potter, and I am proud to be a member of this association.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;">The sun is setting as I arrive home with a half tonne of clay in the back of the truck. Today is the equinox, tomorrow ther will be less darkness in the world as it turns inexorably onward, and on Monday I begin a new making cycle. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ9MfZNhimBhJCVsG2_4n0G-P66PvIj3DpHWNSqGnpMFMOKHKBshjuDlQQrsFDVpaotvzATQ0MKyuQbsmv12sFN64BIYwZyJHRNfon9FA06AVLazENH6ugM7cy3MUqb_sDGoIkig-E-ZKE/" style="width: 400px; height: 266px;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;">Shoji Hamada Noborigama Revival Firing Project </p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;">Japani Mingei Association Tochigi Members Exhibition</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;">Exhibiting Artists; Tomoo Hamada, Ken Matsuzaki, Euan Craig, Masakazu Ishikawa, Kazuhiro Ohtsuka, Seiichi Ohtsuka, Mazatoshi Ohtsuka, Okada , Yoshiko Kasahara, Fujiya Sakuma, Kei Shimaoka, Yoshinori Hagiwara, Rei Matsuzaki, Ryuuji Miyata, Masato Akutsu, Touru Murasawa</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;">March 21st~April 1st</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;">Tsukamoto Gallery</p><p style="text-align: center;">4264 Mashiko, Mashiko-machi, Haga-gun, Tochigi</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">Tel. 0285-72-3223</p><p><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKANDijfbiEJdmHTk-eqVY2cD3I6wltzxnJGtJckXm-YEuSUCVBZye90IIOGyaxAE9_ObSpM-gURyrzKBPfA3sg-mgFMkwUYA9Q5C7GQ3aMJhmYA4RoXSIMOWg5Op_5WXIcAM6AZhSkuOj/" style="width: 400px; height: 600px;"></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br></p><p style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Wdnq1m7kLrqUiS8RpkAv64IFTDGJ908DhjbcM1-yBFd_bRcNAV3596Z4h8jkDgYgXsjKJm0XsnjvMX55pCrhE2IZ1z61mDVwKRXNWsv7_qdJWPbAKmZoowvcQleuw0ODoM60I47DNxsX/" style="width: 400px; height: 600px;"><br></p><p><br></p>Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-76665850543977301042015-03-15T23:01:00.000+09:002018-05-20T16:32:19.542+09:00The Ides of March<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The frost carves geometric landscapes in the surface of the puddles in our driveway as we slide once more under the edge of the eternal sunrise. There is such beauty in the world, from the minute to the magnificent. We are blessed with a fresh new start everyday, an opportunity to write a new chapter in our lives. These moments must be treasured, for they soon turn into weeks and years before we realize they are gone.<br />
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It is four years ago today that we trekked across the mountains before the cloud of nuclear fallout from Fukushima. Each year we cannot help but relive those desperate days in our hearts and minds as we remember the earthquake and the fear, the relief at finding our loved once safe. The daunting task of building a new life, the kindness of so many friends and strangers, and even the cruelty of a few. I have seen such bravery in Mika and the children, I have watched them start from scratch and rise to the challenge. Their frustration and their patience, their sadness and their joy. The children have grown so much, not just physically, but as people finding their place in the world, searching for meaning in their lives. I witness their successes and their failures, too, and am filled with pride and love for them, whatever the outcome, for it is their striving that defines them. </div>
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I, for my part, go from day to day, task to task, working to build a safe and wholesome environment for them. It is impossible to separate my work from my home life, and probably useless to try. Whether it is making pots or cooking dinner, dining with my family or doing the dishes, pruning fruit trees or stoking the bath furnace, every facet of my day is part of a single endeavour. To live a good life. I constantly question the rightness of my actions, of my words, and strive to live each day to the full and go to rest each night without regret. Each day is busy, from dawn till dreams come, and I cannot always achieve all that is expected of me, or that I expect of myself. </div>
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Today I spend quietly with my family. I make green tea for Mika in one of the Machawan tea bowl that was fired last month in the Hamada Noborigama in Mashiko. Built by Shoji Hamada in 1943, and fired up to four times a year until his death in 1978, it was severely damaged in the great earthquake four years ago. It has been restored with the assistance of many donors and volunteers, and Tomoo Hamada invited the potters of Mashiko to join in a collaboration to fire it for the first time in forty years. I was honoured to be included in the project, and was allocated one of the thirty spaces in the kiln. I prepared about 140 pieces, thrown on the kick wheel from the Hamada pottery which Tomoo gave me after the earthquake. Vases, machawan, guinomi sake cups and platters, made in the pale winter light while the snow whirled outside in the bitter north wind. Some of the guinomi were made on the kick wheel as I demonstrated at my exhibition at the Japanese Traditional Craft Exhibition in Nagoya in January. Some of the pots were chattered as I often do, but some were decorated with Jomon rope marks, as Shimaoka sensei taught me, with a hand braided silk rope made for me by the son of sensei's rope maker. I carried the pots in the back of my little truck the 200 km to Mashiko without a single breakage, and unpacked them onto Shoji Hamada's throwing deck in the original workshop at the museum. It was important to me to be as honest to the process as possible, and prepared my pots as I would for my own kiln, raw, wrapped in Igusa straw from Tatami mats and stacked on Akagai sea shells. It turned out that I had more than I needed, and Tomoo used my extras to fill spaces in other chambers. </div>
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The kiln took five days to stack, and another five to fire. 15 tonnes of red pine was brought from Nagano where there is no radiation contamination on the wood, and it was split and stacked by a team of volunteers. I was teaching a workshop in Mashiko for the Singapore American School during the day, but took my turn on the stoking team for the third chamber, the reduction flames blasting in scorching tongues from the spy holes on one side, the freezing dark on the other, as crowds of spectators hovered around the fringes of the fire light like moths.</div>
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When we opened the kiln four days later, we discovered that the back wall of the first chamber had collapsed forward onto my pots. Miraculously they all survived! It was fascinating to compare the results on my pots from the first three chamber, seeing the differences between them with ash and flame colour in varying parts of the kiln.<br />
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I am trying the machawan from the Hamada kiln, one by one, for a vessel finds completion in use. I must know that these bowls function well in the tea ceremony, are easy to use and beautiful in harmony with the green tea. It is some years since I studied the tea ceremony in the Urasenke school, but I make tea regularly at home, boiling the iron kettle in the irori charcoal brazier in the studio. Last October I was invited to attend a formal tea ceremony in Nihombashi, where the tea master used my bowl along side Shimaoka sensei's. It was a great honour. Then in November, during my exhibition at Ebiya, a tea master of the Chinshinryuu school used my new machawan, mizusashi water jars and chaire tea caddies, in the Kian tea house at the rear of the gallery, to serve tea to our guests over three days. It continues to be great study for me, and I use the experience to constantly improve my work, to bring the beauty of nature into the lives of others through my vessels.<br />
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It is the simple things, the sharing of tea, a delicious meal, having my loved ones close and safe, that make my life rich and full. Each and every vessel which I make is an expression of that.<br />
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It has been difficult for me to write and I have started so many times, but each time it has been left unfinished as other tasks have demanded my attention. So much has happened.</div>
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Autumn vanished like leaves on the wind and the long snowy winter still clings with its icy tail. Spring is so close I can taste it. Today, these last few days, remind me once again how blessed I am. </div>
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Tomorrow, March 16th, 2015, at 8:30 ~8:58 Japan time, NHK World will be rebroadcasting the "Begin Japanology" documentary of our first firing in the new kiln in Minakami, 2012. I hope you can enjoy it.</div>
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http://www3.nhk.or.jp/nhkworld/</div>
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Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-75327616279969160002014-08-28T15:35:00.001+09:002014-08-31T14:24:51.584+09:00A Long Journey<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibagwIy2o1eX8ESf2CefVOrpsDh2qdqIuUY0icpt7FeYQ3EvNuLuOdaNj6gUAZphcRVfOLWcIkmj8Qc9DTlwqTntylqLh_9nj_iSdt4UXMdselYz3O-J5dSBcXA-mJukitQcqY8YK23-9N/" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">The air is cool as I rise into the dark morning. At 4 am the children still sleep soundly, albeit sideways in their respective futon, and the sound of their breathing is countered by the calls of cicadas and crickets from beyond the screen door. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I put the kettle on for coffee, weigh 45 grams of coffee grounds into the coffee filter and place the dripper on top of the coffee pot. While the water heats I prepare one of yesterdays scones with home made yoghurt and blueberry jam for breakfast. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Mika comes out to the kitchen and we kiss good morning. The kettle boils, I pour 750 ml of water over the coffee grounds and listen as it drips into the pot. The coffee and tea pots from the last firing came out of the kiln looking beautiful, but the rain and humidity this year caused surface cracking when I raw glazed them because the moisture could not evaporate into the air. The inside of the pot expands because of the added moisture and the outside cracks to release the expansion stress. Only 10% of the pots survived. After the weeks of work making them, it was a bit of a disappointment. The cracks are only surface deep, but the vessels are unsalable. Ah, well, at least the coffee is good!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I load my suitcases into the car as the eastern sky lightens into a grey dawn. Mika drives me to the railway station at Gokan for me to catch the 5:17 train to Takasaki. We chat quietly as we drive through the drizzling rain, making sure there is nothing I have forgotten to do, nothing we have forgotten to say....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">We kiss goodbye at the station, I drag my suitcases to the ticket gate and the guard stamps my ticket. I pass through the gate and wave to Mika from the other side. I drag my suitcase towards the stairs, I lose sight of her. As I climb the stairs to the footbridge across the tracks I can see her car driving away from the station. She is gone. No, that's not quite right, even though that's how it feels. I am gone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Standing alone on the platform, I look out across the rice fields to the misty wooded hills rising up into the low clouds. Yes, even in the drizzling rain, it is still a beautiful world, if only you take notice. The two carriage train arrives, I board the empty carriage. My journey has begun.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">The landscape slides past the windows, the mountains and hills fall further and further into the grey distance. At each station commuters board the train with yawns and bleary eyes. Salary men, high school students, office workers. Numata, Shibukawa, station by station the train slowly fills. Some of the passengers read books as the travel, just as it was when I first arrived in Japan 25 years ago. Most of them now have mobiles in their hand, texting, gaming, reading the news. A few of the high school students are doing their maths homework. When we arrive at Takasaki, the whole swarm stampedes out the door, leaving me to drag my luggage out onto an emptying platform. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">There is a half hour wait at Takasaki, but at least I don't need to change platforms. I carefully read the signs on the platform to make sure I am near a door when the train arrives, and settle down to wait. Gradually other passengers flocculate onto the platform, they seem to drift to the yellow line like dish suds pulled towards a swirling plug hole. And there we stand, balanced on the edge of the drain....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">The 6:27 to Ueno on the Takasaki line arrives at the station, the ten carriages slowing down until a door stops right in front of me. A momentary flash of smug self satisfaction vanishes as I realize the car is for reservation passengers only, and I dash down the platform to a non reserved car as fast as my luggage will let me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">There is an empty seat in the corner near the door, priority for elderly, disabled, nursing or pregnant mothers. For the moment I deem my luggage a handicap, and take a seat. I can always stand up again if someone with greater need appears.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">The train pulls away from the platform, moving through a vista of dirty factories and back streets ofshopping districts, before giving way to an urban sprawl punctuated with small vegetable gardens. As I leave takasaki behind, the horizon widens, with rice paddies and market gardens stretching to the grey distance. Occasional splashes of habitation and industry interrupt the landscape likes yoghurt on a patchwork quilt, and web of power lines links them all like the circulatory system of some great transparent beast. They get thicker and denser as I travel across the kanto plain towards it's great throbbing heart. Houses, apartments, factories become more concentrated, like penicillin on a petri dish, the space between them getting narrower, the building getting taller. Every now and then a spore of green trees and gardens relieves the beige crush, with a temple or shrine resting calmly at its centre. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Sora bought a five journey "seishun 18" train ticket for going to university open days over the school holidays, and there were two left when school started yesterday. Each ticket offers unlimited travel on the standard JR trains for one day, so it is very economical. The catch is that they must be used by a specific deadline. Waste not want not, or so they say, so I am taking the standard train on my journey today. Who knows what adventures I may encounter on the way to my destination? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">A salary man takes the seat beside and is asleep by the time we get to Kumagaya, occasionally sliding over and leaning against me. A stretch of my shoulders gently puts him back on his point of balance and he can continue to slumber in preparation for a hard day at the office. I'm sure that he, along with most of the people on this train, enjoy the splendour and excitement of this journey every single day. I look down the train at the growing crowd. 80% are in various stages of sleep, some nodding, some resting their head in their hands, some with their heads leant back against the wall and their mouth hanging open pumping z's of various magnitudes into the increasingly musty air. A pungent mixture of perfumes, aftershaves and antiperspirants mingled with the fragrance of cleaning products, body odour and, yes, just a hint of halitosis. A veritable feast for the olfactory system. At each station the view becomes more restricted down the carriage, clogged with a collage of fashion statements, exclamations and questions. The hum of the electric motors is counterpointed by a myriad of squeaks, groans and rattles as the train rocks on it's tracks and pulls in and out of the station, with sniffs, coughs and even a subdued snore from the gentleman beside me to ad to the urbane symphony. Occasionally a soprano diva performs a solo in an electronic voice from the speakers overhead introducing the stations as they come on stage and telling us from which side to exit and the connections we can make from here....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Looking out the window gives me a bifurcated view of the world, the shopping malls and factories, high rise apartments and scrap yards as we pass by, and the semi silhouetted figures of the commuters packed tightly in the reflection of the carriage behind me. A train zips past the window going the other way on the parallel track so close that I could touch it, save for the barrier of reflected people on the glass between me and the outside. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">By the time I get to Omiya the seat beneath me seems to be growing harder, my gluteus maximus becoming painfully aware in some parts and numb in others. It is difficult to move or stretch in the space between the wall, the suitcase and the slumbering salary man. I wriggle and fidget but to no avail, there is nowhere left to run. The train stops at Omiya Station and exhales a gust of passengers through its automatic doors onto the platform before inhaling the innocent people who were waiting politely beside the doors and didn't have the sense to run. The carriage is now clogged with passengers, pressed together in one clump of humanity, like a vacuum sealed plastic pack of shimeji mushrooms. The air is thick with a myriad of aromas, from the rich smell of leather hand bags to the crisp fragrance of newspaper and ink. There is more space for me beyond the window now, as there are more parallel tracks between me and the buildings rising beside the wire fence. At Urawa the train breathes once more, and just when you thought you couldn't fit any more people in this carriage, surprise! Individual activities like reading a book or a newspaper can now only be performed in the dead space over the heads of seated passengers. I can feel the pressure of that dead space filled with paper and print hanging over my head and wonder how long it will be till I reach the final exhalation in Ueno? At Akabane station a platform attendant helps the train to ingest the last occupants of the platform in a gluttonous waist stretching gulp. I marvel, once again, in my bubble of vicarious space, at the flexibility of the human form to adapt to such constriction, and the tenacity of human spirit that drives all of these constricted heroes to brave this commute every single day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">"Oku," sings the diva, "Next stop Ueno." Such sweet music!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">At Ueno the train disgorges it's surprisingly undigested passengers, as this is the terminal, a description I have often thought is rather grim. I wait until all the other passengers have disembarked, and drag my luggage into....a mob of reformed passenger now being sucked inexorably into the mouth of a ravenous escalator. I wait, my luggage stoically defending my personal space, and let the mob flow around me. Before long the jostling crowd is gone and the satiated escalator waits patiently to carry me and my luggage down to the ground floor and the central exit. Occasionally wading across the flow of commuter streams, I make my way through the ticket gate, across the lobby and out into the relatively fresh air of the Hirokoji exit. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Stopping on the pavement for a moment to put my ticket away, I take in my surroundings. Across the intersection is the Okanoeisen cake shop that makes the best Mame daifuku in Japan. The bean paste is not too sweet nor too smooth, and the outside mochi pastry with the firm beans blended through it has just the perfect touch of salt to make it a delight! Unfortunately the shop is still closed at 8:30 am, so I grab my bags and head off to the right under the railway overpass. Beside the railway lines across the road is the Ameyoko market, a bazaar where you can by almost everything. Smells of cooking food, fresh fish and rotten cabbage drift on the breeze and dance gaily with the diesel and traffic fumes before they reach my waiting nostrils. Aah...Tokyo! Under the railway there is a congregation of homeless men with various bundles and bottles amidst their squatting forms. They seem to accrete here, though they don't seem to interact with each other, as if they are mutually invisible. One of them reads a comic, another picks his scabrous swollen right leg, another pours a clear liquid which may or may not be water from one pet bottle to another. I pass them, feeling as invisible to them as they are to the other passers by. Across the pedestrian crossing and past the stair the the park, I enter the Keisei train station. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">An elevator takes me down to the ticket counter where I purchase a ticket on the 8:43 Keisei Skyliner express to Narita airport. Through the ticket gate and down another elevator to platform 1, onto carriage 4, reserved seat 13A. I put my luggage in the racks provided, sit down in my reclining chair, and relax for the trip to the airport. Bamboo groves, copses of trees and rice paddies flash by at incredible speed. I have barely caught my breath when we arrive at Narita terminal 2. I am going to terminal 1, the last stop. A dozen passengers disembark form my carriage here, leaving me and perhaps half a dozen to go to the last stop. It is 9:30.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">The Japanese lady at the Aeroflot ticket counter is very polite. She checks my passport, makes sure that I have my residency card for returning to Japan, and weighs my suitcase. 18.4 kg, no problem. She gives me two boarding passes, one from Narita to Moscow, one for the second leg of my journey. I can collect my luggage from the final destination. "Enjoy your trip." She says politely, returning me my passport. The planes boards at 11:15.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I find a phone and let Mika know I'm safely this far. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">" How was the train trip?" She asks.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">"You can read about it on my blog!" I say to her cheekily. We chat for a moment then say our goodbyes, again. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">The staff at the security check at Narita are freindly, laughing at me and sending me back through the metal detector when my steel capped work boots set of the alarm. I go through again in socks and joke with them about my big feet. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Immigration is crowded. The immigration officer apoligises for the delay, but I point out to her that all the best restaurants have long queues. We laugh, and I pass through to the concourse. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Because of security restrictions I am only able to buy three 100ml bottles of sake to take with me. Not quite enough to fill a "tokkuri" sake bottle, but it will have to do. I have a sake set in my hand luggage, a gourd shaped tokkuri and five guinomi sake cups, the bottle holds 2"go", the traditional measure of liquids in Japan, which is 360ml, enough for two serves in each cup.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTsOlqDCoSmmY2iR2x9EgXO1d_832m6Bo8kUFY1U1Iii_p3TY-biuobQORL2B_Po3hORYtIHvUCQZliuEgmCeRjhQcjiNirDdE6nI_pYTcIaF3kIr2ylCNXhBgg53RAKppCS6G0yvFuMM9/" style="height: 544px; width: 363px;" /><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">The flight to Moscow is crowded. I find myself in the centre seat, a russian gentleman who speaks no english on my right and on my left a japanese cameraman. He is part of a film crew doing a television documentary about crossing siberia and visiting the World Heritage sites along the way. The plane taxis out onto the runway, with the dour cabin staff making sure our luggage is stowed and belts buckled. The plane accelerates up the runway and amid shuddering chasis and roaring jet engines we take to the sky. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> There are two meals during the flight, and at each we are given a choice of beef or fish. I choose beef for the first meal...it reminds me of the first time I ate barbequed black bear...an excercise in, well, jaw excercise. I wash it down with the token paper cup of wine they offer. Four movies later I decide to try the fish...I suspect that it, and the spaghetti it was served on, came from the same bear. After another bum-numbing journey we come screaming in to land, the braking so hard all the passangers are thrown forward in their seats. Welcome to Moscow! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">The stonefaced immigration officer wordlessly checks my passport and waves me through to security. When the security guard has finished texting on his cell phone, he stamps my boarding pass and waves me through to the metal detector. Having learnt my lesson in Tokyo, I remove my belt and shoes and slide them through the xray, and the metal detector stays satisfactorily silent as I pass through. Once I have belted up and rebooted I am ready to go insearch of the ticket gate. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">It is a very long walk, from one side of the horse shoe shaped terminal building to "terminal E" at the other end, past a couple who are trying to wake up the shop attendant at a cafe so that they can buy some water, and when I get there I am greeted with an unexpected sight..."Foster's Bar"! As an Australian, I cannot resist the patriotic call, and as I still have three hours before my next flight, I go in and ask for a fosters!</span><br />
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZZ37bf76RjSiYmb82QQRqK35d8S_QYAnRgd_VdqRIDOE0OIAP0bzjKSh9bhfGGQjROKEPfdCNEnHw1iyc2TJJazeX5s7ot5O4Z8ZqSpHa8nARmDDTJGj3YIptMjSBf5IUMM0CDv4swCEB/" style="height: 302px; width: 404px;" /><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">They look at me strangely, and find the only staff member who speaks english, who cannot understand what I am asking for...he finds an english menu, and shows me the beer selection. There is no Foster's. They seem to have never heard of Foster's. I don't, therefore, have a Foster's. Instead I select a local beer with a cyrillic label and hope for the best. It is cold and hoppy. They are redeemed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I leave the bar and take up vigil outside Gate 41, just as my boarding pass says I should. An hour passes. Two. I am sitting alone still, and begin to feel insecure. I check the overhead screen, Flight Su2496 to Copenhagen is now checking in at Gate 40. Strange, Gate 40 is right beside me, and there is nobody there either, and the screen above it says Amsterdam. It is 8:00 pm in Moscow, still tuesday the 26th. Home in Japan it is 1:00 am tomorrow now. It is turning out to be a very long day. I am about to go searching for the transfer counter when an announcement comes over the PA, "There has been a boarding gate change for flight SU2496 to Copenhagen which is now leaving from Gate 33." Of course, it is back at the other end of the horse shoe. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I find gate 33. The screen above the gate says, "SU3200 Warsaw". I check my boarding pass again, check the screen above the gate, check the schedule screen, and go in search of information. Upon discovering the information counter, I also discover that there is nobody there. I now go systematically to every boarding gate; Amsterdam; Riga; Paris; Brusselles...Gate 40 now reads Copenhagen! Yet there is stil nobody there! I take consolation in the beautiful sunset over the airport runways, and take a deep breath.</span><br />
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQtnhiujb-CjWCIGUmJpQIa_eae5_7nAN-kFuL1PujZJenpcg9XLLM7jMlRtccLY-ObppCUcJNsmlCvINnrn6zo5NyT12XDS0fNkktRBGD_2Z2nUVXxfPIMztLfsTrvMDgMx1Qc1ohwoXU/" style="height: 597px; width: 446px;" /><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">After another ten minutes a lady in uniform arrives at the boarding Gate 40 counter, though there are no other passengers waiting nearby, and I go and ask her. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">"Yes, of course this is it." She says with a withering sneer. Perhaps I have lived in Japan too long...it is 9:00 in Moscow and the sky is darkening. I sit and quietly wait. A smattering of passengers gather near the gate. A lady with a face like a lemon juicer joins the one with the sneer, and they open the gate for boarding. I let a pleasant faced old lady in line in front of me and the queue edges toward the gate. A man in the line ahead asks if there are spare seats so that he can stretch his legs. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">"No." Says lemon squeezer, "No spare seats."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">My turn in line comes, she takes my pass, tears the perforation and gives me back the stub with a perfunctory command of "Downstairs."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">There are stairs to the right and an elevator to the left, and the lady in front of me has pressed the elevator button, so I wait and go down with her. As we step out onto the landing we see a tape barrier across the bottom of the staircase, secured to a movable metal post, which has stopped all the other passengers in an awkward queue behind us on the stairs. The old lady and I wait on the landing. Other passengers come out of the elevator with the same puzzled expression on there faces, and the landing starts to fill. Finally, lemon squeezer steps out of the elevator and begins to admonish us for not boarding the plane yet, then realises that the tape is across the staircase. She marches over and drags the metal post across the floor with an echoing, tooth rattling, metallic screech, and waves everyone through to the plane. As I walk down the ramp to the plane I begin to laugh. So does the old lady. Infectiously it spreads through the passengers until we are all laughing as we board the plane. The are, perhaps, twenty of us. We all go to our reserved seats, squeezed together in three or four rows in the middle of the plane, while the rest of the seats remain empty. A conversation ensues in Russian between some of the passengers and the two young flight attendants, and most of the passengers stand up and spread out to the other empty seats. Leaving me in a window seat in a row alone. When we have settled, the attendant gives a safety demonstration with a ragged yellow life jacket, torn at every seam. We eventually take off and, just as I feel myself drifting to sleep the attendant wakes for a meal. Cold mixed vegetables with mayonaisse and two rock hard buns (which prpbably came from the same bear), stale cake with butter cream and a glass of water. Yes, it tasted as good as it sounds. Sleep seems to have left me for the moment, it is still an hour or two to Copenhagen. I close my eyes optimistically.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Copenhagen airport is beautiful, with parquettry floors and modern art on the walls. I breeze tyrough immigration and baggage claim, there is virtually no customs check, and I am out of the airport loke magic. I find the train station ticket counter, the young man is polite and helpful, and within minutes I am on platform 2, with its beautiful granite floor, waiting for a train to Copenhagen Central.</span><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiJKICGSsQh-j1AzFMkiWiZFG5Me0G4uDcaNf2fztSKviTDTUNSfeNJ_Yl4szu-r_XCh0zRYiTFUYkBrcgc4nhZm_oElQVjmJA3VNb5Eewx-BT4YWHPHg4ooth2idTqnk2f0msjsqtFA3D/" style="height: 617px; width: 461px;" /><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">The train is perfectly on time, I change at Copenhagen and take the connection from platform 6 to Slagelse and arrive just after midnight local time. Unfortunately, the last bus has gone. It is too late to phone my friends. The first bus will be at 6:00 am. The 7/11 at the bus station is closed, it will open at 5:35...I.settle myself on a bench at the bus stop with my hand luggage as a pillow and lie down to wait.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">It is cold in the wee small hours, I find that a cannot really sleep. Digging through my luggage I put on several more layers of clothes and wrapp my towell around my head like a cowl. Dozing in fits and starts, woken by passing freight trains, I look at the stars, trying to work out which way is east. Eventually one portion of the sky begins to pale, and one bright star hangs in the cobalt of bourgeoning dawn beyond the red brick buildings with their teracotta tiled rooves. People start to move around the station, eventually the 7/11 opens and I get a warm bagel and a hot coffee. The bus for Skaelskor arrives and I ask this bus driver how to pay my fare? He explains to me politely, takes my fare and as we drive through the undulating countryside he points out sites of interest for me, the bridge from Zealand to the next Island, the wind turbines across the water.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">There is a low mist across the surface of the water and it lies in the valleys. We descend into it and rise out af it at every dip in the road, and the light of the rising sun turns the surface of the mist into a rainbow feild. </span><br />
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM0x6iM9DeTJv_shpF_UWBS2TbrzQY9NeIi7lS6UqbTt49KDEy1LrXFNo2e6bC_2FrrjYfq4Dsu5VNkqJyQN5E0RXFoQIFMbtO12GaFjolhlAyY-bGBtEmWbW56My9gtdLv0Iwk5roBzZw/" style="height: 658px; width: 492px;" /><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I bid farewell to the bus dricer at Skaeskor, and drag my luggage the final distance to the International Ceramic Centre at Guldagergaard. Today begins the final preparations for this weekends "2 nd European Woodfire Conference". On Saturday morning I will be addressing 140 delegates an the library auditorium. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">It is 7:00 am. I have been travelling for 36 hours. It has been a very long journey to the other side of the world, but I am here, and there is much to do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br /></span>Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-14443141507947731752014-07-12T10:24:00.001+09:002018-05-20T16:33:04.010+09:00Make or Break<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">There is a golden ring around the moon tonight, the thin whisps of cloud washing eastwards on the skirt tails of Typhoon number 8, while the full moon moves inexorable westward across the southern sky. Mika and the children have all gone inside now. I am alone with the moon, the fire flies and the creaking frogs in the rice paddies that step down into the valley. No, not alone, for I have Shimaoka sensei with me in the shape of a sake cup, and a 12 year old Macallan to share with him. We potters, you see, are like trees. Each vessel we make is like a leaf, it is an expression of our selves, we must create it in order to grow, but we leave it behind to nourish others when we are gone. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">This morning, as the predawn light filtered through the shoji screen, I lay on my futon on the tatami floor listening to my family breath. I do not know what woke me, but as I lay there I heard the house creak and the floor beneath me move sickeningly. Leaping out of bed I flung the Shoji screens open on the engawa and opened the glass doors as the house began to shake and shudder. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">"Jishin!" I called to the family, ready to evaquate them outside if the tremors got any worse. The house swayed, the 140 year old pine logs of it's frame groaning against each other, the joints flexing to absorb the movement of the earth. A minute, two, the movement gradually subsided, the house settled still. I closed the glass doors and tuck the children back into their beds, then go to check the earthquake details on the web. Magnitude 6.8 off the coast of Fukushima, danger of a small tsunami, 20 cm to a metre. The magnitude measures the amount of energy released at the epicentre, on a scale that peaks at 9....2011 was a 9. The amount of movement caused at any particular point is then measured on the "shindo" scale, based on the acceleration of the earths surface at a particular point in metres per second squared. Today was only a 4 on a scale of 7. 2011 was a 6+ at our home. Today was just a wake up call, at 4:22 precisely.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">I prepare "Obentou" lunch boxes for the kids. Sora has an exam today, Rohan and Canaan are off to a basketball practice tournament in Niigata. Opening up the house to let the cool morning air flow through, I make breakfast as well and by the time the alarms start ringing at 6:00am I have lunch and dinner prepared as well. It will just be Sean and I during the day, Mika has a meeting at the senior high school during the morning, so I should be able to concentrate on getting some work done. Work has been a bit slow the last few days, as we had to prepare for the typhoon.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">We are always ready for emergencies these days, risk management is what they they call it I suppose. Emergency food and water, we are prepared to be off the grid for days. The cars are never less than half a tank full in case we need to evaquate. Before the typhoon we cleared anything that could be blown away by strong winds from around the house and battened down the hatches. I climbed upstairs and removed the steel chimney stacks before closing the storm shutters. I closed the last one and darkness engulfed me. Closing my eyes, I stood still for a minute to allow my sight to adjust. When I opened them gain the light from the gaps and cracks shone beams through the fine motes of dust, dimly illuminating my way back to the stairs, and reminding me how many more repairs are left to be completed on the old roof. One day....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">The schools finished early on Thursday so the kids could get home before the worst of the storm, and they started two hours later than normal yesterday as the typhoon passed through during the night. The town PA system announced that we would have 150mm of rain overnight, and to stay clear of rivers and water channels, being wary of land slides. Our home is well clear of dangerous slopes and on high ground, so once we were locked down we were ready to weather the storm. The wind buffeted the shutters and the rain pounded the roof, helping us find all those leaks we had somehow misplaced, but we came through without major event and by the morning the typhoon had passed, the worst of it going out to sea and then further north. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">It has been a "tradition" in our home, since the children were small, to have drop scones for breakfast in a typhoon. Somehow that touch of normalcy removes the fear from these events, for there will always be typhoons in Japan, though they seem to be stronger and more frequent every year, and it is important to be prepared. Yesterday, I took some of the new 7 sun (21cm) plates from the most recent firing and served breakfast on those. Home made yoghurt in the tenmoku rice bowls with a sprig of mint from the garden for colour, and blue berry jam in the hidasuki bowls. The celadon chattering forms a frame around the meal, and even the simplest of foods becomes cuisine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">I am often asked why I am a potter. I sit down at the table with my loved ones and share this food that we have prepared, on vessels that I have made with my own hands, with the help of nature and good fortune. There is a wholesome beauty which enriches our lives, and as we eat and talk and laugh, I know that I am happy, here, now. It is more than that, though, and as I watch my children I know that they will carry these memories with them all of their lives.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">Sean is 9 now, he sits at my right and I watch him enjoy the meal, giving him pointers on manners when necessary. Much as I was when I was a child, slight of build, he doesn't have a big appetite. Often he will be unable to finish what is on his plate. I understand that, but make sure that he always has enough. He was only 6 when the great earthquake hit. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">Memories flood back from when I was small, unable to finish my meal, and my father standing over me, bellowing. Too afraid to ever tell him I was afraid. My mother trying to calm him down. He was from Liverpool, a child during the depression, and leaving food on the plate was unforgivable. He had gone to sea at 15 years of age, during the war when his father had been killed after a german torpedo attack on a convoy of merchant ships. He had known hardship and poverty, and had fought his way through youth and manhood to a home and family in Australia. Anger, yes, and violence, were his first and best answers. He worked hard to put food on the table and pay the bills, and his word was law. His forearms were massive from shovelling coal, with a blue tattoo of a swallow rippling on the skin. His huge hand struck me so hard on the back of the head that my forehead smashed the dinner plate in two. I know my father loved me. I also know that I will never be like him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">I reach out and touch Sean's wavy hair. He looks at me and smiles, then asks me what is wrong? I wipe the tears away and tell him that sometimes I get so happy that it leaks out of my eyes. I tell him I love him, and turn to the rest my children and tell them one by one. Lastly I tell Mika, who has walked this path with me, and thank her. It has not been easy for any of them these last few years. They have grown, we have built a new life here, and we can sit together in beauty and love, and even the simplest of meals is a great feast of joy. It is a much more difficult task to make plates than it is to break them, but it is far more fulfilling. This is just one reason why I am a potter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; text-align: center;">Yes, it has been a tiring few days. Months. Years. As I have written the moon has traversed haif the sky. The children have come outside to kiss me goodnight, each in turn, telling me they love me, each asking me if I an OK? I reassure them, hug them, and send them off to bed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; text-align: center;">I tilt my head to the right, further, further yet, until the shadows on the moon become the face which I remember seeing when I was young, in Australia, and the moon traversed the northern sky. Fortunately it is dark and there is no one to see me looking at the sky from such an acute angle. It has been a long couple of days. Oddly, the bottle of Macallan is still almost full. I drain the last few drops from Shimaoka sensei's cup and go inside to my family. </span><br />
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<br />Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8941116847729995457.post-19512679043991424652014-07-08T23:42:00.001+09:002014-07-10T15:23:48.294+09:00Out of the fire<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I remove the bricks from the kiln door two at a time, the fire clay that sealed the gaps on the outside flaking off and scattering on the kiln shed floor. Stacking the bricks according to size beside the chimney so that they will be in the right order for the next firing, layer by layer, the space at the top of the kiln begins to open. A glimpse of the top pots, tantalizing, just the rims, then the body. The colour seems good, they seem to have good ash and flashing.....</span><br>
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPGBEIAVQIHV-7HXJe7YxlqkkxsKY8k5MJ5d6JXfobWaRcY98Tw56uAvKu3P8UH9tVUyy6RaU6lkc-5oQlmpMkrimn4AXAaPVKx04_49PbQqoyS9QrJXwydITt6Ghyphenhyphen_eYiYkF4Jt3KxlLV/" height="870.4583333333334" width="650"><br>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">It has been two days since the firing. Patience is a potters greatest strength. Now that the kiln has dropped from over 1300 degrees celcius to under 70, I can remove the pots with my bare hands. There is no longer the fear of thermal shock. Now there is just the excitement, the anticipation, the discovery of what results I have been blessed with, what losses there may have been. There are nearly 500 vessels in this firing, a months work, and my family is depending on it's success. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">It is now two years since the new kiln was built, and it is firing well. This firing was a perfect 14 hours, the orton cone ten was well bent, meaning the working heat was up to 1325C, and we only used 380kg of fire wood. My production is still not up to my old level, but I'm doing my best. I should be firing again before the end of the month!</span><br>
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijLCWEG7A_R-1bd3c8e8E3lGHyFmfz5dN4TxlbQFFgZyb2mXe5nbmLnMNejyf7WnIoeXcJo2KCEZBP7u1rWi52TvtzUmadg7pHqruM18X57ApLM6hfkhyphenhyphend2sZQ3kwOnOoxcr73KTWrhWt0/" height="485.875" width="650"><br>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Once the door is clear I can see the whole kiln, and it seems to be a good firing. I remove the pots one at a time, checking for flaws, placing them on boards to carry back to the studio if they are good, setting them aside if they are not. Work which is not exhibition quality is set aside to be resorted later, those peices which are of usable standard will be sent to the Tohoku area for the people still living in temporary shelters after the earthquake and tsunami...yes, there are still many, and I hope my pots can help them find a sense of normalcy, a touch of beauty, a moment of joy. </span><br>
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1p8hdrztMk_FAAqH8w-e6z-3csulQRgw93_k3OJCq4DFcmSDGi5YjC9W0Vo8R_3AvCgb2McQFfUzs_z-GBnG8H6uiyhZxa5Nl0TrcBa6fRHG6NoE2adBYYv_dawiqHss7M1wW7rdsYT_/" height="870.4583333333334" width="650"><br>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I line the boards up in the studio, sorted by type; kumidashi chawan (汲み出し茶碗) cups for green tea, gohan chawan (ご飯茶碗) rice bowls, plates, sake cups and bottles...</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">The afternoon light illuminates them with its soft glow. Jade like celadons and tenmoku with the deep black of laquer ware contrast with the golden hues of the lustrous hidasuki. The vessels have gone beyond me, the forces of nature have made them something new and vibrant. It is a good firing.</span><br>
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9_dINE-Yrf8wLhv4lTUEqeiszw-OAu5xMUuhOwHjw0U6ljylJFFVlfz0s6VYrtLmY0QJoDMqHl4RMurHGtEIFYVm2pGTQkRir6vImhE2mYO5M2UVfBng6m9SQz1kG7TQ30_PEUVBGv_rk/" height="485.875" width="650"><br>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">The series of tests which I spread throughout the kiln have come out well. They are not exactly the colour which I was pursuing, an oribe style green, but they are close. There are historic examples of oribe this colour, but I am looking for a deeper green. These are a touch pale, a bit thin, poor things! I will beef the next batch up a bit, and each firing I get closer. The most satisfying thing about this batch is the stability of the glaze throughout the kiln, top to bottom, fire face to door. There are subtle variations, but not so much as to prevent them working as a set, interacting with the cuisine served on them. Another step in the journey.</span><br>
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8f2l0QdvCxyegBnkbX7roPPCRZkJbC1OsabyK_kW103ddJbk7oF6v3Ktl_b9t343AvRoVUDLGfwTlKFvoNW-yZjtFzM9Cms8xiJvIVd0h6c-FXMBUXWPePY1nKTSvJkmDJTdaLUB7uXhi/" height="870.4583333333334" width="650"><br>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I will finish the feet off tomorrow, grinding back any roughness and polishing them to a smooth finish. At this stage there is only 2% lost out of this kiln load, a very gratifying success rate! My next challenge will be to find homes for these vessels, and then I can begin the cycle again. It is important to take joy in ones achievements, no matter how small, for they are part of the journey, and it is the journey which is most important, not the destination.</span>Euan Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03566781595108329428noreply@blogger.com1