Shiho Kanzaki - Moving Always
by Dick Lehmnan

Originally published in Ceramics Art & Perception. Reprinted by permission.

Over the past several years I have enjoyed ongoing e-mail conversations with my friend and potter, Shiho Kanzaki. Kanzaki lives in Shigaraki, Japan. He produces pottery within the Shigaraki tradition, employing the long-established methods of that tradition to create and fire his works.  As time has passed, our correspondence has steadily drifted toward the themes which we hold most important to our lives and art. With his permission, I share some excerpts from Kanzaki’s contributions to our conversations which I have found most stimulating.
Shiho Kanzaki describes his philosophy of life, living and pottery making.
Before everything, I would like to review for you my basic thoughts concerning the making of ceramic works and how it is that we can live fully in this world. I believe that our spirits and thoughts are what make our ceramics. The making of ceramics and our attitude towards living are closely related. The two may seem to be unrelated at a glance but I think that the relationship between the two is important.  An attitude of disarray towards living can cause us to make works which have a ‘wrong spirit’ or which are without soul. However, the reverse is also true: sometimes when we see certain ceramic works, we get a feeling of emotion and they touch our hearts. Now I believe that our response to this work is not simply because of the shape, or due to excellent technique, or the beauty of the surface. These ceramic works possess the spirit, soul and personal history of the potter. This is why we might be so impressed with these particular ceramic works. For if the beauty of a ceramic work exists only in its good shape, design and colour, I suspect that its effect upon us may fade over the years. But if the spirit, the heart and the soul of the potter are in the pieces, these ceramic works can touch our heart and soul for many years.
The art of ceramics isn’t to be found in technique and skill alone. We must extend beyond technique. And it is those who are extending beyond technique who are becoming real potters: living within their spirits, thoughts and religion. Because they have already discarded their sense of self-will, they live in freedom. They move in a living way. As a result their works have a feeling of strength, and are full of life.  It is important that we live our lives purposefully. Our spirits, thoughts and hearts – all parts of us – are constantly changing when we live with this sense of purpose. As we each strive to live up to the best that we know as a way of life, then that is when the ceramic work is the potter... the potter becomes embodied in the ceramic work itself.  Out of our moments of true being come the ceramic work.
I asked Shiho Kanzaki to explain what he looks for in good work. What does he think are the characteristics of the best ceramics?
Ceramic works which have a tender heart, which reveal emotion and life, which show a feeling of strength – these are the real ceramic works.  Such feelings come from the potter’s heart. It is quite natural that these pieces are not overworked for effect.

If one tries to make wonderful and marvellous works in order to gain the applause and approving words of others, it will be obvious. Greedy and desirous potters tend to express their motivations by putting excess decoration on the pot. This excess obscures the real heart of the pot...  revealing only the desires of the potter.
In order to make good work, I find that I must make an effort to release myself from greed and desires. I believe that if someone abandons their greed, their true spirit will come through and the pots themselves will reveal a heart. For me, it is at this point that the pots become real ceramic works.
To summarise, these are the characteristics of good ceramic works: they are made by potters who have moved beyond single-minded reliance upon skilful technique. The work is simple and natural. The maker has given up any greedy motivation. The works show us a ‘look of delight’, a feeling of strength, and a full-of-life stance. And these works we experience as beautiful. In fact, as I think of it, I suppose that the beauty in these works is ‘continuing forever'.
What sorts of ceramic works move you? Which ones touch your spirit? And why do you think that some pots move you more than others?
I like the natural-ash-deposit works, like those which come from the Shigaraki, Iga, Bizen, Tamba and Tokoname traditions. The ancient pieces from these traditions especially touch my heart. You see, our ancestors were mainly farmers who, in their free time, made pottery utensils for their daily needs. Their purposes were to make durable and useful pots, and to make as many as possible in the limited time that they had. I suppose that they didn’t give a great deal of thought to the colour and shape of the pieces... to the beauty of the works. But despite the likelihood that they were not concerned about beauty, I find them to be beautiful with their rich natural ash deposits.
Their pots came from anagama firings. Of course, in an anagama, nobody can foresee the results of the pots. The atmosphere surrounding the pots determines the results. And the ash deposits grow naturally from the effects of the flames. One can say that the resulting pots were created by nature. And these natural-ash-deposit pots move me more than others.
I asked Kanzaki how he measures success in the works he makes.
There is an easy way to judge the works... whether they are successful or not. The work, just after having been made, is wet and glitters in much the same way that it does when it has much natural ash glaze. I think that this sheen affects our response to the work... making it seem bigger and better than it really is. We tend to become infatuated with the ‘make-up’ on the pots... their costumes of colour, glaze, shape and decorations. However to judge the work, I look at it when it is dry greenware. The real beauty is to be found here in the greenware. I look at the work and see it with no ‘make-up’... this is the time when I measure the success of the piece.

How does your ceramic work change and grow over the years? Do you intentionally try to make it grow, or are you responding to what happens in the firing?
I have already told you how I believe our thoughts and spirits change and grow as we go through life... and how our ceramic works reflect those changes. However, I would like to tell you about how the firing affects the work, as well.
As you know, each firing is different because of differences in weather, season, air pressure and other circumstances. I have never used a pyrometer or pyrometric cones. I decided against cones and pyrometer because I think that if I used them, I would tend to rely upon them to make my decisions during the firings. At that point my concentration would move from the firing to the tools of firing. When one chooses not to use the tools, one must concentrate only on the fire, the smoke colour, the sound of the kiln, and the shape of the flame and smoke.  When you accumulate these experiences during the firings, you tend not to forget them. You develop an understanding of a whole variety of phenomena, and then each firing tells you what you need to do, and how you need to do it. Clearly, gaining experience is most important for this kind of firing.
Each firing condition is, of course, different. While I may begin each firing with  work which is similar to the work I have previously made, what happens in the firing changes and adds to the intentions and decisions I made while creating the pots. This means that all of my works change and grow over the years in response to the changing conditions of firing.

Part 2 > Adding to Tradition

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