Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Three Sounds, Two Inspections

 
One of our county's favorite holiday events is a large arts and crafts fair, Hum Arts, held at the local Fairgrounds. The fair features live music, good food and four exhibit halls filled with beautiful hand-crafted works, just in time for Christmas. Or Hannukah. Or Saturnalia. The fair has been held for so long (I think we've missed going only once or twice in its twenty-plus year tenure) and, as a shopper, I know just where to find particular artists: The garlic braid wreath people are in the small hall next to the grandstand. The sweet, elderly couple selling roasted nuts are at the back of another smallish building on the other side of the grandstand. Several friends and acquaintances have booths in the big hall, selling paintings, prints, tile work, painted silks and pottery. Over the years, we have collected work from several local pottery artists who set up their booths in this particular hall.

I have to admit to a certain acquisitiveness when it comes to vases and bowls, perhaps because they're versatile and widely available in a variety of shapes and materials (we recently purchased a bowl at a retail store that was clearly a product of mass production and  intended to be used as dinnerware; some of my favorite vases are thrift shop finds). And although I enjoy purchasing pottery from galleries, thrift stores and tea shops, buying directly from the artist -- either at a craft fair or a studio -- gives us a unique opportunity to connect through the artist to the individual work of art. Recently, this relationship provided us with a fascinating lesson in pottery and the Way of Tea.

Those who study Cha-no-yu have been taught that during tea whisk inspection, or chasen toshi, the bamboo whisk is dropped on the rim of the bowl from a very short distance (a centimeter or less) which produces a clinking sound. As the whisk is raised, turned and inspected, it is dropped three times at the beginning of the ceremony. We learned this as, "Three sounds, two inspections." (As the ceremony ends, only two sounds are made.) Each type of pottery makes a characteristic sound -- for instance, porcelain can produce a high, clear ringing sound. We're instructed to never drop the whisk on a raku bowl, however, since the pottery is porous, fragile and easily chipped.

It was at this year's Hum Arts fair that Laura purchased a chawan from one of these local pottery artists: a rich, red-brown wood-fired bowl with a classic straight-sided shape and inviting texture. Naturally, she wanted to use it during practice the following week. I can hardly find the words to describe our reaction to the sound the bowl made during chasen toshi: Surpirse? Amazement? Fear? The sound it made was not a clear ring or high-pitched "tink" as we're used to hearing in other high-fired pottery, it was more of a "tank" or "thunk." Laura froze at that first sound, and we looked about at each other, eyes wide, silently questioning whether she should allow the whisk to make that kind of contact with the rim of her new tea bowl. Did we misunderstand the firing of this bowl? Was it indeed "high-fired" pottery? Or was it more like raku? Harvey-sensei contacted the artist with our questions that night after practice.  As we're occasionally in contact with him, I expected that we'd get a reply but what followed was beyond our expectation:

 "Raku bowls are earthenware, which is a low-temperature clay, and it is fired and cooled very fast. The result is a ceramic that is not very dense, hence its relatively low thermal conductivity compared to high-fired wares -- easy to hold when containing hot liquid. In the case of raku ware, the lack of density is the characteristic responsible for the sound when struck. During the firing of earthenware clays, elements that melt basically glue the other bits together, which results in a certain degree of strength, but nowhere near that of high-fired clays -- and the vitrification (melted stuff) is brittle and therefore easy to crack and chip.

"During the firing of stoneware and porcelain, the silica in the clay forms cristobalite crystals, which interlock and give the ceramic a much greater strength. The interlocking crystals are structurally similar to many rocks and minerals, and so the name stoneware is descriptive. Ever higher temperatures do not necessarily mean greater durability, however. As clays are fired to the upper ends of their normal firing range they become more and more vitrified, more glass-like. If high-fire clays were to be put into a very high temperature industrial furnace, they could eventually be melted into glass, and glass is quite strong but not very resistant to shock.

"All of my work is high-fired stoneware and porcelain, and it is fired into the hotter end of its normal firing range. Compared to industrially-made dinnerware that you would find in a department store, for example, my pottery is robust and durable. It chips less readily than most commercial dinnerware. I have microwaved food in my bowls for many years and have never yet had one crack, so my pots consistently demonstrate a very good resistance to thermal shock. However, I do not put my very favorite pieces in the microwave because I do perceive a potential for risk -- I have never done any empirical testing on the limits of my pots to thermal shock. Also, of course, if a thin rim gets knocked against something breakage is possible. The potters' perspective here is that people break pots in normal everyday life, and then we get to make more.

"As to whether a pot makes a ringing clink or a duller clunk, several factors are involved. The composition of the clay, the temperature of firing, and the form (shape of pot and wall thickness) all contribute to the sonic qualities of the pot when struck. I personally enjoy pots that have bell-like qualities, and I flick my fingernail against the rims of all of my pots because I enjoy the sound and I am curious about the differences. The sonic nature of Laura's teabowl does not indicate the structural characteristics of raku ware, rather something that derives from the combination of the various factors just mentioned. I strongly doubt that dropping a bamboo whisk into the bowl would crack the clay structurally. I do not remember whether the bowl that she bought is the one with splashes of melted ash drips in it. If it is, I would caution you folks that those drips are glass-like, and are therefore more brittle than the bowl in general. [We] have quite a few cups and bowls with ash drips in everyday use, including the microwave, pouring in of boiling water, etc, and this normal use has had no negative effect on the drips -- but we have never dropped anything into our pottery.

"If you are curious about the durability of raku ware compared to stoneware there is an easy test. At a second-hand shop buy any really cheap stoneware bowl (50 cents?) and an earthenware bowl (any Mexican or Italian painted pot will be earthenware) of similar thickness. Then drop a ball bearing into each one from the same height, gradually increasing the height with each drop until they break. The results should give you useful information regarding whisk-dropping into different types of pots."

My next trip to a thrift store will be to find a cheap stoneware bowl instead of a vase.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Haikai no Renga Poetry Party

We recently discovered what a wonderful party game Haikai no Renga is! A form of linked poetry, renga is linked verse poetry composed by two or more authors. Here is a sampling of some verses composed by a dozen or so of our guests at Harvey-sensei's birthday party:

White birds flying high
whispers from the southern wind
life beyond the fence

Grace notes; a gift from the sky
Pure white droplets from above

lights bright from above
the streets don't sleep anymore
just rain sometimes veils

Sleeping -- sleeping -- I can't sleep
It's 3 a.m. I'm awake …

 Just like sake in our cups, the verses flowed freely. The full poems and more thoughts about our renga party are posted here at holliix.blogspot.com

Friday, November 11, 2011

Water Basin


forgotten ladle
basin purifies with song
shadow leaves bamboo

--Harvey II

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Cold

Are you sick my dear?
No, it's just the mountain frogs.
I really like tea.

-- Harvey II

Monday, October 24, 2011

Patterns and Ideas


"When you return the natsume, move your hand around the chawan in a 'j.' Ah, no, no, no." Then an inhalation and pause. She takes hold of my hand. "Not across the chawan, see. Around it. Like this." Her hand moves my hand around the tea bowl in an arc, tracing a "j" from bottom to top, to replace the tea container in its original location.

As it was taking form in my mind, she anticipated my next question: If we're concerned with economy of movement, being still, being simple, direct, why then would we not return the natsume to its place via the most direct path? Without me asking, she answered, "If you move your hand over the bowl when you return the natsume, your sleeve may drag across it and spill the tea."

My next question was forming. I was wearing a T-shirt.

"Your kimono sleeve."

In those early lessons, Hirose Sensei made me aware of how body movement in the tea ceremony is influenced by the traditional garment of Japan, the kimono. My natural stride, hand gestures, arm and torso movements were suddenly confined in a narrow garment with hanging sleeves and bound by a wide, stiff belt. I had to learn to take small steps and bow from my hips while keeping my back straight. And above all, be aware of those sleeves! Hold it back with one hand when reaching with the other to keep it from knocking over utensils or worse, catching fire from the charcoal in the brazier. Although I felt like an unsteady child learning to walk, the kimono worked its magic. It cast a spell over me with beautiful brocades and sensitive colors. It wooed me with silk. Tempted me with textures. I fell in love.

Like many a young romance, the kimono and I drifted apart. We went our separate ways for many years but I never lost my love for it, or for textiles in general. Recently the flame has been rekindled. I'm once again under its spell but I look back on those years apart with some regret. I would know so much now about kimono and Japanese textiles had I just kept studying! So we pick up where we left off, move forward, taking baby steps and learning as we grow.

Indeed, I've learned as I have grown, but I've also learned that I have grown. Yes, I'm older and wiser (have plenty of gray hair to prove it), but my girth is considerably girthier than it was when Hirose Sensei first wrapped me up in a kimono and obi more than 20 years ago. The kimono, on the other hand, has remained the same. It does not come in a size 14 with relaxed fit. It is not sold prêt-à-porter at Macy's. It comes in one-size-fits-some and is made in Japan.

I own or have access to several kimono, but none of them fit me properly. When I wear them, I find myself distracted by constant fussing to keep the thing closed, but inevitably it shifts and gaps and soon my lovely kimono has betrayed me. Attention diverted, concentration gone, tea practice sidetracked. That each of these kimono is a one-of-a-kind garment -- and in my mind, irreplaceable -- has kept me from altering any of them. I lived with them as they were. I wished for a body the shape of a cylinder, of an idealized Japanese woman.

But another of the things I've learned as I've grown (metaphorically now) is that while the Japanese people come in various shapes and sizes too, with round hips and tummies, it doesn't keep them from wanting -- and, for the most part, achieving -- that ideal figure. Their secrets include, but are not limited to, padding the hollow of the back with towels, binding down a large bust, and altering their kimono to fit. I had long resisted altering my kimono, but it was becoming increasingly clear that this was an untenable situation. It took a combination of experience, frustration, encouragement and nudge from an experienced textile designer to get me to take a chance.

The nudge came from John Marshall, a winsome man from rural Mendocino County in Northern California, a world-renowned textile artist, expert dyer and all-around nice guy. We met him at a textile arts fair last month where he sold assorted Japanese garments, yarns, gold thread (14 karat, straight from Kyoto), books, patterns and accessories. He was comfortably attired in linen kimono and haori, and we immediately struck up conversation. Actually, it wasn't so much conversation as it was us peppering the poor man with questions about where he buys his kimono, if he has retail shop or sells online. We explained have a hard time finding kimono that fit (pat the tummy) and we're always shopping -- and, oh, by the way, where did you get your kimono? What? You made it?

It turned out that he studied Japanese garment construction (among other Japanese textile arts), and if we wanted to learn more we should read his book, Make Your Own Japanese Clothes. (Read it? We own two copies! And if we come back to the fair tomorrow, would you autograph it?) Then the nudge, advice that caused me cancel my never-alter-the-kimono policy on the spot: he simply pointed out what seams generally have extra allowance and can be let out easily, without deconstructing the entire garment.

Kimono, can we give it one more try?

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Hakone Daichakai 2011

This is the second year we attended the Daichakai, a multidisciplinary tea gathering at Hakone Japanese Gardens in Saratoga, Calif. The garden is the perfect setting for sharing tea. Lots and lots and lots of tea!

Guests enjoy the scroll and flower arrangement one last time before leaving the tea room. (Lower House Roji)

Chabako temae, Wisteria Pavilion

Signature inside the lid of the natsume, Cultural Exchange Center.

See more photos here
And here
Read about last year's event here

A Different Type of Tea Ceremony

High tea at Lovejoy's Tea Room in Florence, Oregon. Listen to Judith -- that woman knows tea.

Scones, cream and jam
A rich black tea with a dash of cream