The Unequivocable Truth

I

I am just a potter. No more. Most certainly no less. For sixteen months I have struggled to keep my family safe, to keep the true path. My choice to be a potter was never about "success"; it is, and always has been, far too hard a journey for the feint of heart. It is about truth, about beauty, about living a life without regret. No words will ever express the anguish I have felt in my endeavours to protect those that I love throughout the disasters that have enveloped Japan. Yes, even I have despaired. But I have not surrendered.

This evening I finally received the results of the radiation tests. The very kind gentleman from the Environment and Forestry Office, Mr Kamimura, phoned me as soon as the results came through; there is no measurable radiation in the wood with which I fire my kiln. Without equivocation, I can confidently offer my work to the world. As of tomorrow, we are open for business!

At this stage, there are coffee mugs, tea cups and saucers, and green tea cups available in limited numbers, the details of which I will post soon! I am also very eager to wholesale to outlets throughout the globe at reasonable discounts! If ever you have wanted to help us, now is your chance! We haven't managed to get a web sales site happening yet, but very soon....!

Without the good will and charity of so many of you in the international community we would have never come this far. There comes a time when charity must end. Uberrima Fides, utmost good faith, this is the basis on which I wish to build our future. I therefore commend you all to consider my works, and how they may enrich your lives, as the creation of them has enriched ours.

We are open for business at;

121-1 Higashi-mine, Minakami-Machi, Tone-gun, Gunma-ken, Japan 379-1417
T/F (81) 278-25-3982
euan@euancraig.com

I thank you all, from the bottom of my heart. That is the unequiovocable truth.

The Last Hurdle?

The clouds sit heavily on the shoulders of the mountains, their legs dangling down into the valleys and their toes wriggling among the trees. I have been told that Japan has the largest percentage of forested area of any industrial nation, which is a very fine thing. When the nuclear disaster occurred last year, however, the fallout contaminated wide areas of forest with radioactive materials such as Iodine 131, Cesium 134, and Cesium 137. Radioactive Iodine only has a short half life of a week or so, and has mostly dissipated by now. However, radioactive Cesium 134 has a half life of 13 years, while Cesium 137 has a half life of 30 years, and remains in the environment and becomes part of the food chain. Various government bodies have therefore introduced safe limits and testing guidelines for many food and food related products. The limit, for example, of radioactive Cesium in logs for growing Shiitake mushrooms is 100 becquerels per kilogram. In Ichikai, the amount measured was 117bq/kg, prohibiting the harvest of mushrooms in that area. The same applied for Mashiko, Haga, Mohka and a number of other places in Tochigi prefecture. Here in Minakami, there was no detectable trace of radioactive material in the Shiitake logs. HOORAY!

As I mentioned in an earlier blog, the limits imposed by the Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries on wood and charcoal for food preparation (including pottery, as it used for food serving and preparation) are much stricter, with a maximum limit of 40 bq/kg for firewood and 280 bq/kg for charcoal. This is because radioactive materials concentrate in the ash after burning, and the resulting ash must be safe for human consumption. For example, let's say you bake a pizza in a wood oven; if it gets ash on it, that ash goes into your mouth too, along with the radioactive materials. So, in order to ensure the safety of the pizza, you need to control the safety of the wood. In the same way, ash in a wood kiln sticks to the pots and melts into a glass, and therefore theoretically so do the radioactive materials. There is evidence that Cesium volatilises at 671C and would therefore become a gas which goes up the chimney and into the air again, which is equally horrifying. The only way to prevent this is to control the amount of radioactive material in the original fire wood. The MAFF has made it the responsibility of the wood producers and suppliers to test the wood, however, I am not taking any chances. 

As you know, I fire my kiln with recycled firewood. The wood I use comes into Japan as boxes of tobacco from the US for Japan Tobacco. It is therefore untreated with chemicals in accordance with safety regulations. In accordance with the Japanese industrial waste laws, it is then passed on to a licensed recycling company, in our case a wood supplier in Mashiko. He then bundles it into neat packages and it can be used in my kiln. I asked the wood supplier to provide certification that the wood was tested for radioactive materials and proven safe, and he in turn asked JT, who provided us with the above documentation, stating that the wood was maximum 0.15microsieverts of radiation, and well within the safe limits. SO, with confidence I fired my first test firing with my safe and wonderful wood! After the pots came out I checked them with my own handy dandy Geiger counter (never leave home without it!) and it told me that the pots were less than 0.05 microseiverts and unmeasurable with this equipment. HOORAY!!!

But wait....lets just double check everything before we sell these beautiful vessels. The MAFF says less than 40bequerels/kg for firewood. JT tells me it is 0.15microsieverts.... do you see the problem? Microsieverts is a measure of radioactivity, and Becquerels is a measure of the concentration of radiactive materials. To put it in really easy to understand terms, if faeces was a radioactive material, the stench coming off it would be radioactivity. The paperwork from JT only tells me how stinky the wood is, and MAFF needs to know how much poo is stuck to it...becquerels and microsieverts measure two different things.   

After unsatisfactory attempts to get the wood retested in becquerels by JT and the wood guy, I have discussions with the Mashiko Ceramic Institute and the Mashiko pottery Co-operative only to discover that they are unable to test for radioactive materials. ("If you have paperwork from JT that should be OK..shouldn't it?") It is very difficult to get them to understand that there is a significant difference. They tell me if I want it tested for Radioactive materials I'll have to do it myself, and point me at a testing facility in Chiba. After two days of telephone conversations I am informed that a simple test will cost me 33,600 yen, but that will not satisfy the criteria of the MAFF. A proper test will cost me 100,000 yen. At what point should I start to despair?

I contact the Gunma prefectural office of environment and forestry in Numata, our neighbouring town. I explain in detail the problem I have, and ask them what I should do? They tell me to prepare a 1 litre sample of saw dust according to the outlines on the MAFF homepage, bring it to them and they will test it for me for FREE! HOORAY!!!

On a clean sheet of plastic (free of potential contaminants) I cut ten separate bundles of wood taken at random from the wood stack with my freshly cleaned chainsaw. I gather 1 kg (which is actually more than 1 litre, but better too much than not enough!) and double bag it in two new plastic bags. I then took it straight to the Prefectural office in Numata and the very kind gentleman took my details and the sample and will contact me when the results come through. They have a back up of tests, so it will take ten days to two weeks, is that OK? YES!!!

So, if you were wondering why you can't buy my new pots yet, and why there has been this deafening silence, now you know. Probably the most important word in the mingei philosophy is "Kenzen", which means healthy or wholesome. When I make my pots, I make them for my loved ones to use. I will not compromise on safety, and until I can confidently provide art which is healthy and wholesome, we will just have to be patient. As I have said before, my vessels are a collaboration with nature, and through them I strive to enrich peoples every day lives every day. The more beautiful the process, the more beautiful the result. I will not be firing again until I have the official test results. In the meantime I will be making lots of pots in preparation for my renaissance exhibition. It has been a very long run, and hopefully this is the last hurdle.

Small Miracles

The soft morning light glows gently through the shoji screens. It illuminates the porcelain electrical fittings on the dark wood ceiling above my futon in chiaroscuro. Birds twitter in the trees outside and frogs croak in the rice paddies beyond, but inside it is quiet, just the sound of my family breathing. I lay listening, watching the shadows slowly move across the ceiling, in no hurry to rise. The last few weeks have been hectic, I am trying to pace myself, but it is hard to find a rhythm. It will come. I just need to listen.




As these thoughts are passing through my mind, the town PA system rings the not quite Westminster chimes loudly down the valley, signalling “6:00 am, time to rise”, and ending in a signature click of static. I chuckle quietly to myself, as every-ones alarm clocks begin their daily chorus. Gradually the family begin to stir. I rise and Mika starts to get the children moving. Another day begins.


We all sit for breakfast together, sardines on saffron rice, a salad served in a bowl given me by Clive Bowen. We place our hands together in gratitude and chorus “Itadakimasu!” The kids chatter over breakfast, talking about their new friends, the upcoming tests, their sports clubs. They have settled in very well, their grades are good, I am very proud of them. I watch them head off for school, Sora and Canaan on their pushbikes, Rohan and Sean off to the bus stop, the sound of their dinosaur bells jangling into the distance.



It is about a year since Sora was diagnosed with fatigue fractures in her spinal column. It is caused by over training in sports, in Sora’s case basketball, and the specialist in Maebashi told us it would never heal. Our local doctor, however, had a corset made for her and gave her an exercise program anyway, with instructions to follow that program -not the program dictated by the basketball coach. After we had meetings with the school, she has been participating in the team on a restricted level, with regular checkups at the doctors. It has been a very difficult time for her, but she has been very brave. At last week’s check up, after x-rays and a thorough examination, the doctor gave her a clean bill of health! “The x-rays show the spine is straight and cleanly healed,” he said. “You don’t need to use the corset anymore, keep it as a souvenir.” It seems that the specialist was wrong, for which we thank god and the good advice of our local Doctor!



I return to the studio, which is becoming more functional with each working day. The light from the window reflects off the dark wooden decking, clean and waiting for me.




Now that it is summer we are not using the wood stoves for cooking so often. Instead, I often light a charcoal fire in the irori and cook over that. The pit is half full of ash now, and I level the ash off and rake it even each time I use it.





I have always felt that this is the true source of the stone gardens of Kyoto, though I have no proof to support that other than the beauty of these patterns that were once the heart and hearth of every home in Japan.





My work cycle begins with wedging the clay, blending two clays until they become a new homogenous body. The clay becomes marbled during the process, and like every part of the process it has an intrinsic beauty. I will wedge 300 kg or so today, in preparation for my “Hatsugama”, the first firing of exhibition work in the new kiln.





It takes time to get into a proper working cycle. In the last month I have managed to make and fire the first test firing, a rehearsal for the “hatsugama”. We need to know how the kiln will fire, with a balance of pots inside. Not work made for museums, vessels made for my family, simple and honest. We need coffee mugs, cups and saucers, green tea cups. It takes 400 pots to fill the kiln, so I make 100 of each. If they work out well, I’m sure that others will want them too.





The aesthetic of Mingei is based on the simple beauty of functional ware made for everyday use. So, too, is the art of tea, but in a much more specific way. For me, the making of pots is like a tree making leaves. I make them in order to grow; when they are finished they will nourish others, becoming a part of their lives. Each is an individual and unrepeatable expression of the beauty of nature given form through me, and the more beautiful and simple each part of the process is the more beautiful the results will be.





When I stood before the fire box, bathed in the light and heat of the wood flame, it was not by my effort alone. It was with the help and support of so many of you, and the grace of god, whatever you conceive that entity to be.





The kiln fired perfectly. It fired in ten minutes less than the estimated fourteen hours, with exactly 400kg of wood, to 1305C by the pyrometer and Seger cone 10. The reduction flame from the chimney blew red into the darkness like a phoenix rising into the night.





I opened the kiln on the morning of the third day after the firing, with Mika and the children there. It was perfect. The flame had blessed us with red and orange and gold, lustrous surfaces, Sumi-e like ash glazes and beautiful igusa straw markings. No two were the same, but each a precious crystallisation of all the elemental forces of nature that have helped form them. And yes, one of those forces is love.





I lined the pots up on boards and took them to the studio. The vessels stretched across the dark decking in elegant rows. There are no words to describe the feeling of seeing this, to have come full circle.





This has been a long journey; I thank you for sharing it. Now I stand at the beginning of a new journey; or perhaps a continuation, I cannot tell. Every step is always the first. Shimaoka sensei said to me once, “I have no secrets, but if you don’t ask, I won’t tell you.” I have no secrets, but I have learnt a great deal on this journey. I will continue to share what I have learnt with you as I can, perhaps a little more regularly as we settle down into our new lives. I am blessed. I owe a debt of gratitude to so many, for all of these small miracles.

Thank you.

Another Brick in the Wall

Pottery is pottery by virtue of fire; without fire it is mere clay. A potter is thus a potter by virtue of fire, and a potter without a kiln is no potter at all. Last year I watched as the seven tonnes of my kiln danced like bamboo in the breeze. It has taken fourteen months, but I am a potter once more!




Since the kiln shed roof was completed we have been building the new kiln. With the help of friends we brought the 2000 odd fire bricks from the old kiln in Ichikai here to Minakami last summer. There they waited, through Autumn and the long Winter, but with the coming of Spring they have found a new home. The children all helped as we carried load after load of bricks in the little truck from the green house, where we had originally planned to build, to our new kiln shed. We sorted them by size, type and relative crustiness, and stacked them neatly, with calls of "I can build a quick trick brick stack!" punctuating the process. The practical Dr Seuss!





I published the plans of the original kiln along with an essay on responsible wood firing in the Ceramics Technical magazine some years ago, and since then there have been at least a dozen of them built in Japan and many others across rest of the world. But for all its efficiency, practicality and environmental benefits, it was not prepared for the worst earthquake in Japanese history. Back to the drawing board!





Essentially there were four weaknesses in the original kiln; the foundations were too shallow, the kiln was not anchored to the foundations, the chimney was independent from the kiln for its whole four metre height, and the sprung arch mingled straight bricks and arch bricks, making it susceptible to sliding under vibration. This time we have built the foundations specifically to carry the seven tonnes of kiln, with concrete thirty centimetres deep around the edges and fifteen centimetres through the centre, with extra steel reinforcing bar.



I have redesigned the kiln with the chimney interlocked into the back wall of the kiln. That means that the chimney is now part of the body of the kiln up to 2.2 metres, leaving only 1.8 metres independent above the kiln. This should reduce the possibility of sway in the event of another earthquake. It should also increase the efficiency of the kiln by shortening the horizontal distance that the chimney needs to pull the flame through the kiln...we will see in the first firing!







The entire kiln has been braced with an angle iron frame which has been anchored to the reinforced concrete with a bakers dozen of bolts. The flame may dance within the kiln, but the kiln will dance no more!



Most of the bricks have been recycled from the old kiln. I have always used fire clay to build the kilns, as I was taught at university in Bendigo, not mortar. Fire clay makes repairs to the kiln much easier, and cleaning the bricks was less of a challenge than I have had with mortared bricks before! Fire clay is also more forgiving in the laying of the bricks, as it stays plastic longer.



I made a slurry of fire clay, 25 kilograms of dry clay to 21 litres of water, and dipped the bricks in the slurry to give a one or two millimetre thickness of fire clay between bricks. The less fire clay or mortar the better, as it is the brick, not the mortar, that insulates the kiln.



It is imperative that the kiln be square and level through out the construction, as the sprung arch must have a level, square and parallel surface from which to spring. A spirit level and a straight edge to span the kiln is essential. A set square will square the corners of the kiln, but over the length and breadth of a kiln it is hard to keep the kiln completely square. We gratefully accept the help of our old friend Pythagoras. The depth of the kiln was an untidy 1387mm, and the breadth was 1545mm. For a right angle triangle, "The square on the hypotenuse equals the sum of the squares on the other two sides", says Pythagoras. Thus; if you square the depth of the kiln, and square the breadth of the kiln, add them together and take the square root, the diagonal of the kiln from corner to corner should be 2076mm in both directions ! Viola, a square kiln!



Many of the bricks were seriously degraded after over a hundred wood/soda firings. The insulating fire bricks which lined the inside of the old kiln were somewhat..thinner?..than a fire brick should be, particularly those at the fire face. I reversed the bricks, so that the cold face was now the fire face, and back filled the gap with a mixture of 25kg fire clay: 36litres vermiculite: 21litres water. This is effectively a castable refractory filler which can be made cheaply with materials from the garden centre. No good at the fire face, but perfect between the two layers of the wall.





A soldier row of hard bricks links the two layers of the wall together, then the wedge shaped spring bricks are set, the frame is attached and the arch begins. The arch is only four brick lengths deep in the new kiln, rather than five as it was. It now butts up against the back wall rather than overlapping it, and allows the door bricks the butt up against the front of the arch. Which means 22 less arch bricks than the original kiln. Each row of arch bricks was cut level (once again I was reusing degraded bricks from the old kiln) and a mixture of Y1 and Y2 angle bricks makes up the whole arch. The danger of slippage under the vibration from an earthquake is now considerably reduced! Unfortunately the arch is also thinner, because I could not afford to buy new bricks. Fear not! We still have fire clay and vermiculite! Two batches of castable on the arch, with insulating firebricks to house the front edge, and the arch is complete.





The last 1.8 metres of chimney now pierces the roof, and angle iron braces it to the top. A kiln shelf to stop the reduction flame shooting to far out the top of the chimney, and we have a new kiln! I am a potter once more!





The cherry blossom has blown, and the trees are green with new leaves. The studio is waiting for me, Hamada's wheel is waiting for me, the kiln is now waiting for me. With the help of god, of friends, of family and, yes, of virtual strangers, I am a potter once more.







Thank you.

IF

I stand on the roof of the kiln shed and look out across the valley to the snowy peaks beyond. Spring has come in fits and starts, the last two days were hot on the roof. The children are laughing somewhere below me as they ride their skate boards and scooters around and around the smooth concrete floor. Thirty centimetres thickness of concrete around the edge, fifteen across the centre, reinforced to support seven tonnes of kiln. Anchor bolts set in the concrete hold the wooden frame securely down. Though a builder suggested we use 90mm x 90mm timber for the frame, we could not afford new timber, and have used timber we recycled from the demolition of Mika parents house and shed, most of which is 120mm x 120mm. During the long, snowy winter Raku and I worked inside the studio, using whatever hand tools we had to cut the mortise and tenon joints.

The weather cleared just as Lee Love came to visit, and when we put the frame up it miraculously fitted perfectly! I was afraid there would not be a single square corner in the whole building, but somehow we managed to fudge it. We then reinforced every joint with bolts and coach screws.

Had to buy new timber for the studs and boards on the roof, screwing down the 45mm square studs with 90mm screws, and the 15mm thick tongue and groove boards with 45mm screws.  The children all helped, excited to be up on the roof. Once the boards were on, however, the surface was a bit too slippery for the kids, even though I made the slope on the roof 2:5 ratio, shallower than the 1:2 ratio that the house roof is, so the asphalt paper and the corrugated iron was my job. I chose iron for the roof to keep it light, but screwed that down with 45mm screws as well. The heavy tile roof on the old house was not wise in an earthquake area. Now it should be strong enough to withstand an earthquake at least of the magnitude of last march, as well as typhoons and heavy snow. Now that spring has come, walls and windows can wait until Autumn.

As of Monday I can start getting the materials together for building the kiln. I should start actually building the kiln on Good Friday. I am nearly a potter again.

There is a poem which my father had hanging on the wall in his study when I was young. Time and again over the past few months it has run through my head. I think of it now, as Mika passes salt and sake up to me via Raku on the ladder, and I sprinkle them on the roof on the four points of the compass, thanking god for my blessings, praying for a safe future, blessing this kiln shed. It is a good roof, a beautiful shed, at least to my eyes. My father passed away back in '96 at the age of 58, I was 21 and just embarking on my career. I wonder what he would think of me now.

The evening chimes as I climb down from the roof, Mika has a beer waiting for me, it is a time to celebrate. Next week the kiln begins.

IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling

The Ides Of March

Wraiths of powdery snow blow in translucent veils across the surface of the dark asphalt as I drive Sora home from school this evening. Now, one year ago, we were crossing the mountains trying to stay ahead of the cloud of radioactive fallout that was blowing across the Kanto plain from the devastated nuclear plants in Fukushima. The snow which falls here today is just snow, beautiful and quiet, just snow. It adorns the trees and covers the lantern with the broken leg that I rebuilt in our garden. Our garden. Somewhere safe for the children to climb trees, have snow fights, play chasey. 

This winter has been long and cold, and though I have made plans, schedules are beyond my control. I take each day as it comes, do what I can, try not to stress over what I cannot do. I remind myself to take time to breath, to take notice of the ephemeral beauty of the world around me, live in the moment.

The ice on the puddles in the morning form growth rings as they freeze and expand, freeze and expand.  There is a simple, subtle beauty that nature creates. We humans tend to over work our art, making art about things, instead of making things like nature does; it is what it is. I have always been saddened by humanities insistence on separateness from nature, as if we are somehow exempt from its rules. We are not; to the contrary, we are the product of nature, dependent on nature, part of nature itself, conscious and aware, looking at itself and striving to find meaning. That is why we find such beauty in the world around us, if only we have eyes to see, and why we all recognise the same fundamental beauty of, say, a sunset, regardless of the superficialities of race or creed. We all share a common understanding, and it is that which I strive to express through my art.

Whether it is the snow on our cobblestones or the wood stacked for the stove, there is beauty there for those who choose to look for it. Now, more than ever, we must understand that. We can no longer afford to squander the earths resources in profligate consumption. We must husband this world so that our children and theirs have a healthy and beautiful world in which to live.

It is not a matter of if there is an earthquake, or tsunami, or typhoon, but when there is. Nature has extremes, and they will occur. Just after the earthquake, after I had evacuated my family here to Minakami, a radio announcer in Australia asked me "What do you think about the nuclear power disaster?" 

"I think they were stupid to build a nuclear power plant on a beach in an earthquake zone," I replied. Now, a year later, the fear of radiation contamination still lingers. As we walk around the supermarket we check where the food is from, knowing that there is a great deal of difference between "no detectable radiation" and "within safe limits". Yes, there are still earth tremors, aftershocks, everyday, but if we build wisely we can live peacefully.  The radiation, however, is an insidious poison that will accumulate in your system if you are not constantly vigilant. We are constantly worried for the children, and strive to keep them safe.

Work on the kiln shed continues. Rebuilding after the earthquake is hard enough. Dealing with radioactive contamination is a much more difficult challenge. It is not confined to Fukushima, the exclusion zone or even the Tohoku area. Over the past year, contaminated beef has found its way into the market place, into supermarkets and consumers mouths, and even into school lunches. Fish from lakes and rivers are not safe, milk has been contaminated. We buy milk from Hokkaido, Australian beef, American pork, Brazilian chicken. Seafood is off the menu for the time being. 
   

We have a Geiger counter now which measures the gamma radiation in microseiverts, and we have checked our immediate environs. I can now watch the children playing in the garden without the worry of radiation. At least atmospheric radiation. The issue now is the radiation in the soil, in the wood and leaf mulch, in the vegetables. The soil has been tested in the areas surrounding us, showing no detectable radiation, and so we feel it is safe to buy local produce. We have not had mushrooms, however, for a year, and spring herbs like Fukinoto are very suspect. Yesterday, Tochigi prefecture announced that harvesting of Shiitake mushrooms has been prohibited in Mashiko, Ichikai, Haga and Mohka due to unsafe levels of radioactive Cesium 134 and 137. If there are unsafe levels of radioactive materials in the logs for mushrooms, the fallout in that area must have been significant enough to contaminate the forests.Thus far there has been no such problem in Minakami. It seems we were right to move here, and I hope that our friends who remain there are taking precautions.     

Mashiko has sent a letter to all of the potters warning about the radioactive materials present in fire wood. The radioactive materials remain and become concentrated in the ash.

The discovery of 40,000bq/kg of radioactive Cesium in ash from wood stoves in Nihonmatsu city in Fukushima Prefecture has raised the issue of radioactive materials in fire wood and charcoal for food preparation and domestic heating, but also for the fire wood, charcoal and wood ash used in the production of ceramics. Potters are asked to not use ash that they have prepared themselves until it has been tested, and to only use materials and firewood that has been checked and declared safe. Controls of the source and route of firewood and charcoal, and the disposal of domestic wood stove ash are being strengthened. The acceptable limits of radioactive Cesium are; 40bq/kg of dry fire wood and 280bq/kg of dry charcoal. The wood we have used over this winter has been under cover, either inside the green house or inside this building, since before the earthquake, so we are safe for now. Our future wood supply, however, must be carefully controlled and tested. Even here in Minakami we are requested to take the ash from our stoves to the town office, though they have no plan as to how to deal with it yet. Japan is inundated with radioactive waste.  

I have always striven to live in harmony with nature and to draw beauty from the simplicity of a natural lifestyle. That is why I fire with wood, why I work in the mingei tradition. As the kiln shed takes shape, as I draw closer to building my new kiln, I become more certain that my path is true. The future of my family, of their children and generations to come, depends on this generation choosing to pull back from the brink of annihilation, choosing to draw on the wisdom of tradition and combine that with advances in technology to create a new society, a new aesthetic, in harmony with nature. 

It is not the easy path, perhaps, but it is the right one. I believe that I do not walk it alone, and I have many friends who support my efforts, who have faith in me. Without them I could not have come this far, and difficult though it may be I know that we will win through in the end.  

There is now only one nuclear power plant left operating in Japan, and I hope and pray that it, too, will shut down soon. Japan can survive, nay, flourish, without nuclear power, and the decommissioning of all its nuclear power plants is imperative to the safety and welfare of the population. Japan is a land of earthquakes and tsunami and typhoons. There are questions even now as to whether the reactors in Fukushima were badly damaged by the earthquake even before the 23 metre high tsunami, but the radiation is still too high to investigate... the damage that has been done cannot be undone. As long as there are nuclear power plants there will be nuclear accidents! The consequences are too dire, we must find a better path.  

My path remains clear. It is not enough to just rebuild. We must learn from our experiences, the good and the bad, and build a stronger and better future. I hope to finish the roof of the kiln shed this month. I should begin the kiln at the start of April. It is a year since the Ides of March, when the nuclear reactors exploded and we evacuated here to Minakami. We have come a long way, and there is still some way to go, but it is that journey that is important, each and every day.  

One Year, One Day, One Moment

The fire glows dull gold through the opening at the bottom of the wood stove in the predawn darkness. The sound of the flame within roars a muted bass note to the soprano singing of the metal expanding with the heat. The kettle joins the ensemble and, if I listen very closely, I can hear the steady rise and fall of my family breathing in their futons on the tatami floor in the washitsu beyond. The fragrances of wood smoke and heating metal join those of tatami and coffee. I pick up my yunomi, it's surface hot against my fingers, the subtle texture of the chattered hip counterpointing the smoothness of the shoulder. Taking a mouthful of coffee, it's complex flavours flowing hotly round my tongue, I can feel it's passage as I swallow, it's warmth soaking into my chest.

None of this is extraordinary, at least not in the common understanding, but every moment of every day, every experience that touches my senses, every feeling that moves my soul is precious. I have always known this, that is why I chose to become a potter, why I live the life I do. I have not made pots for several months now, instead I have been a carpenter or a plumber or a myriad of other roles that a man must be in order to ensure the welfare and safety of his family. I have been a father, and a husband, and a friend, as best I could, for these are occupations which take precedence over all others.

Soon, I will be a potter again. My studio awaits me beyond the shoji screens, free now of the timber for the kiln shed. We have finally finished cutting the joints in the preloved posts and beams, and though they are not the work of a professional, they will do. Yesterday's snow will melt in a few days and I can begin the task of building the kiln shed, and then the kiln. But that is not today.

Today is for my family. A year ago today our lives were changed by the great earthquake. We were spared, and I am grateful for that blessing. So many have suffered so much loss, and my heart still goes out to them. It has been a long and twisted road this far, but we have not walked it alone and I am grateful for that blessing too. Thank you.

The road goes on, one step at a time, and we are moving forward. We have come a long way, and looking back it is a miracle that we have come this far in just one year. We have a long way to go, and though the way forward is unclear sometimes, we know it will open for us if we remain faithful and resolute. It is important not to forget the here and now, though, by dwelling on the past or longing for the future. Today is good and blessed, full of love and beauty.

The sun has risen from beyond the mountains, beams of golden light spear across the room to the dark wooden panels of the room beside me where my loved ones sleep. As these rays of light pass, the steam from the kettle on the wood stove dances with them and motes of dust sparkle in the eddies roiling above the hot stove. I will cook breakfast soon, and spend today quietly with my family, in gratitude. We will mourn for those who have been lost, pray for the relief of those still suffering and be thankful for our blessings. Thank you all for sharing this journey. The simple beauty and joy of an ordinary day is the most precious gift of all.