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Randy has finished throwing a pot. “Now I’ll show you how it becomes a
tea pot,” he says. “Tea pots are my specialty, after tea bowls.”He deftly cuts an
elliptical hole in one side, then, after trimming a clay cylinder on both ends — at
precise angles — he dips the wider end into slip, attaches it to cover the hole, and
works the clay gently together inside and out. “When it’s fired, the two pieces will
fuse together, becoming one. The spout has to be made just right or it will drip.
I’ve never seen a western tea pot that didn’t drip. They’re terrible! It must be
made like this. See the angle? Then when you stop pouring, the stream is cut and
there are no drips — not even one drop! The lid is another problem. It must not
only fit when it’s green, but fit after firing. The stuff I’ve seen displayed by the
university students at home have lids that are warped, or too small, or too big, or
they shove some cork into the hole and call it a lid. Whatever they take out of the
kiln is okay:if it’s a misshapen mess all covered with alumina, it’s ‘art’. I had to
throw away a thousand pots before I made one I could keep to sell.”
“Periodically, I have sales, sometimes right outside. I have a wholesaler
who takes some of my work, and I’ve had three shows in one of the big department
stores in the Ginza. They were very successful and people who like traditional
Japanese pottery are beginning to recognize my work, especially my tea bowls.”
“The Ginza is the main shopping and fashion district in Tokyo. Like Fifth
Avenue in New York, I suppose. Department stores there sell upper-end stuff, not
like Eaton’s. So, it’s a real breakthrough for me to get into one.”
“That sounds great! Are there any other foreign potters working around
here?”
“Sure, there are some here in Kasama and more in and around Mashiko.
One day, we’ll go over to visit Nakeno-san and you’ll meet Knapper.”
“Oh he’s a young German guy. Gurd Knapper. He’s a bit of a pain in the
starting and losing two world wars, I suppose. Maybe they’ve always been like
that:Czechs and Hungarians call them ‘square heads’. He’s okay, I guess. You
by Morley Evans