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“Ohayo gozaimasu.”(Did I hear a cock crow?)“Welcome to your first
morning in Japan, Morley.”
Randy and Yoshimi are already busy at 6:00 am. The fusuma are open and
their futon has been folded and put away. When I return from the bathroom, my
futon is also gone and the table is set for breakfast.
Before long we’re on his motorcycle and away. Randy is a madman,
weaving recklessly through streets and lanes that are at this early hour already full
of busy people, motor scooters, small cars and miniature trucks and vans. Kasama
is engulfed in subtropical greenery, bushes and trees; open spaces of tall grasses
and bamboo soften the urban landscape of one storey houses and shops. This is a
bustling little place! Soon we’re on a hillside somewhere on the edge of town.
Below us in the courtyard of what could be a manufacturing operation, workers
have assembled doing warm up exercises.
“Here we are! I built everything here myself, with my own hands. Let me
show you.”
Randy’s studio is a one room building of light construction. Outside I see a
pile of discarded pottery, a bench and table, various tools in a line and a barrel
vault brick structure that looks like a giant caterpillar climbing up the hillside.
“That’s the climbing kiln I just finished,” Randy says proudly. “I’ll be firing it for
the first time in a few days. Over here is my main kiln. I’ll use it for salt glaze
once I start up the other:Once a kiln is used for salt glaze, it can’t be used again
for different types of firings.”
Inside, the studio is spacious. I see a wooden kick-wheel; another pottery
wheel of stainless steel, driven by an electric motor; large clear plastic bags
containing clay of various earthen shades; shelves of drying greenware; other
shelves of bisque; more shelves with finished product; more tools neatly arranged;
some large pails of muddy soup; a water spigot; more pots on the floor; a couple of
chairs and a worktable; and a large electric kiln. “I use this kiln for bisque firings.”
In front of us, is a wall of large windows that look over what can be seen of the
town and hills beyond. We don’t seem to have any neighbours, only trees and tall
by Morley Evans