A funny thing happened at the kiln unloading a few weeks back. One of the glazes, a somewhat crawly feldspathic glaze, had really come unglued on one of the clay bodies and gone all over the place, but at the same time had adhered to the pots really well and rounded over, leaving no sharp edges or uncomfortable spots. Not being what I had aimed for, I was prepared to hammer them when my mentor said “No, you never know what people are going to like and there is nothing wrong with those pots, in fact they are pretty interesting, just unexpected.”

Well, my wife comes out, takes one look at them and says “Oh, you can call those Yuki No Yado Karatsu!” which was responded to with much chuckling and chortling by everyone present.

Yuki No Yado, if you don’t know is the brand name of a rice cracker here that is long time big seller, could be likened to Little Debbie snacks or Ritz crackers. It is a salty rice cracker covered with a crawly sugar glaze, and they are pretty good actually. Here is a picture of them:

Here is a picture of one of the cups in question.
I’ll admit there is a definite resemblance…

Anyway, we decided that calling them Yuki No Yado Karatsu, while entertaining, was probably an invitation for a lawsuit, so I finally decided on Shiranami, which is a term for white caps on a rough sea. It is also a name of a popular shochu drink brand, but first and foremost is a regular expression, so probably safe.

Sometimes it is hard to think of ‘cool’ names for glaze. A traditional effect in Karatsu glazes is a crawling that happens on trimmed surfaces or areas where the glaze is especially thick. My friend Stephen calls this glaze effect ‘pink intestine glaze’ because he first saw it from a macro photo of the glaze surface. Unfortunately, though interesting, this name doesn’t sound all that appetizing for most people.

Luckily, the Japanese thought of the more appealing name ‘Kairagi’, which means ‘plum tree bark texture’.  I wonder if that particular glaze effect would have become so prized historically if it had been initially named ‘pink intestinal texture’.

How far should we go when it comes to following in a tradition? There are many sides to this discussion, from people who are and aren’t working in any particular tradition.

Working in a tradition has its advantages: more than likely you’ll be able to find a teacher, someone who has a great deal of knowledge, plus the knowledge of everyone in the tradition’s lineage. That to me is the biggest advantage, one doesn’t really need to ‘re-invent the wheel’ every few decades, because the body of knowledge exists, and hopefully continues to be transmitted through various educational processes.

Working in a tradition can also be perceived as having a big disadvantage, namely the constraint placed on the craftsman/artist to produce work within a specific ‘accepted range’. But how far do we accept these constraints regarding our work? Is it really a disadvantage? It is really just the other side of the ‘re-inventing the wheel’ coin I mentioned above, isn’t it? So it’s a good thing? No? Maybe? I don’t know.

But, it does occur to me that how far we accept the advantages and disadvantages of our chosen traditions is simply our choice. And tradition can only take us so far. One thing that I think is very important, which people sometimes tend to forget is that tradition is not static, or at least shouldn’t be.

In the realm of Japanese ceramics, there is great import placed on Momoyama Period wares, particularly Shino, Oribe, and Karatsu among others. This time period was the sort of golden era for these and other traditions. In fact, ideal examples of all the aforementioned developed in this time, which was quite short, a mere 40 or 50 years.

MANY Japanese and non Japanese potters today hold these ideal wares up as lessons in themselves, and well they should. Ignoring work like that would be foolish when it has so much to tell us. And, many have spent their entire lives working to reproduce it. And their peers have supported this. This is important. That culture has recognized the value of something and supported it is the ultimate validation.

This happened during the pottery boom of the early 20th century in Japan. Traditions, many long dead or on life support, were revived by very enterprising researchers and potters. A great deal of effort went in to figuring out how the potters of old had produced their work. This was a very necessary step in kick starting traditions and building momentum.

But, that all happened years ago for the most part. Granted, we are still making discoveries about the technology and materials of the 1500 and 1600s even today, and will continue to do so if we work hard and are lucky. But reproducing pots from a bygone era has its pitfalls, in my opinion. The biggest being that it is simply impossible. No way. Not going to happen. Because pots are the sum of the environment in which they exist. Even if we could replicate the materials exactly, the cultural, social, political, economic, technological, perhaps even psychological environment has simply changed too much.

So where does that leave us? Previously I stated that tradition should not be static. Well, we’ve unearthed a lot of pots and shards and done a lot of reproducing work and striving toward an ideal. But do we really want people down the line looking back at our work and saying it was just a copy of better work even farther back in history? How do we start adding to this tradition, producing work that represents the best of our period/culture/environment?

The tradition of Karatsu pottery, of which I count myself part of (though some others do not) is a tradition with roots back in Korea, and encompasses a HUGE swath of styles. Still as in all things, everyone’s definition of what true Karatsu is varies a great deal, from the purists who accept only wares from the earliest kilns of Kishidake to others who go to the other extreme. I think it is possible to strike a balance, to be inspired by the ideal, and make pots for today, maybe even produce something never before seen this tradition.  Validation, though, is what makes or breaks us. Whatever, however, or whenever we live, we have to make pots relevant to the times, or we may not remain potters for very long. Independently wealthy potters excepted, of course.

A lot of things just thrown out here, undeveloped thoughts, etc… Lots of unanswered questions, but every once in a while I need to get something down in writing, just to get organized and so I don’t get lost in my head again and again. Being a youngster among potters here, in years and experience, I often just hold my tongue when these types of discussions happen, mostly to avoid coming off as contentious or just a little too big for my britches.  Well, as useful as it is for some to sit around and argue some fine nuance of a 400 year old pot, it is of equal use for others to get out there and keep things rolling into the future. Preferably with a very good foundation in the past.

There is an expression/thing to do after attempting something called ‘Hansei’ in Japanese. Hansei is reflecting/searching yourself after any attempted endeavor to figure out what you can do better in the future. Hanseikai generally refers to people getting together to discuss what went right or wrong in any particular endeavor.

There was plenty of grist for the mill at the hanseikai for this last firing. Loading, firing, stoking, pot forms, glaze defects, etc… gave me a lot to think about for the next firing. The biggest problem was in not quite getting to temperature in many parts of the kiln. The frustrating part is knowing that it wasn’t for lack of wood, any problems with the kiln, etc… but simply my anxiety about overfiring the load that led to a lot of just underfired pots. And some very underfired pots.

As usual, my mentor Tsuruta san was able to take the opportunity to educate me on a great many things regarding where the fire needs to go, and how to get it there, ways to improve the forms, and better ways to set the ware. This is actually the high point of any firing cycle for me because I get to learn so much. But, the bad pots are definitely a disappointment.

Luckily, many of the pots will be much improved in a refire, but this increases the cost of the pots for me. Getting it right the first time is much more efficient and effective for making money as a potter, I suspect.

Here are some more pictures of the aftermath, with a couple  of little teapots that made it through the ordeal.

Little teapots, I wanted these to get buried in the embers, but I didn’t give them enough protection and most of them got hammered with stoked wood. These two survived at least.

 Not a single water jar survived, nor any of the large slab platters, flower vases, or jars.

 Nails in the wood that got really cooked, the crumble when you roll them between your fingers and I think will be good to grind up and use as iron underglaze pigment.

 Most of the jars ended up like this, with a lot of unmelted ash. Still trying to decide what to do with them. Refire or hammer…. Only one of the large jars actually self destructed, but when it did it took out a really nice teabowl, four porcelain plates, and four chosen karatsu plates. Grrrrr….

Here are some bowls from the wood kiln. Overall, it was still a little underfired, but not nearly as much as the first firing. The best thing to come out were some E-Karatsu plates, which are not yet cleaned. I’ll post pictures of them when they are done. Also, I’ll post some of the more interesting Guinomi when I can get some pictures.

These bowls were the best ones, a few more are going to get re-fired, but the rest are getting the hammer.

Kawakujira Chawan

 Kawakujira Chawan

 Chosen Karatsu Kutsugata Chawan

 Chosen Karatsu Chawan

 Hori Karatsu Tsutsugata Chawan

 Madara Karatsu Chawan

 Madara Karatsu Chawan

 Chosen Karatsu Chawan

 Muji Karatsu Chawan

 ?????? Chawan

 Muji Karatsu Chawan