Shiho Kanzaki - Moving Always
by Dick Lehmnan

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

Part One > A Philosophy of Life

How important is it to add to the tradition as opposed to simply continuing to make work which is in line with the Shigaraki tradition?
I believe that the changes and maturity that occurs in our lives have a direct impact on our works. In other words, our works are changing day by day... as a direct result of, and as we make an effort to advance our lives: to change our spirits and our souls. But there is also a relationship between the long tradition of Shigaraki ceramics and our daily lives. For those of us who work in the Shigaraki tradition, it is one of the most important things in our lives, as potters, and as human beings. You see, our ancestors were continuing to build upon the traditions which they had inherited. They contributed to a tradition which was long and continuous. The reason we have inherited this tradition is tied to their commitment and contribution to this tradition. One might ask, “Is there something new in the Shigaraki tradition?” I don’t think so.
I suspect that there are the changes which come from the changes in our daily lives. And while parts of those changes are genuinely new, they are at the same time connected to the existing tradition.  I do think that I live in line with the Shigaraki tradition: I live in the traditional way, and am devoted to Buddha. I pray and always say:
Namu Ami Da Butsu (I depend upon the mind of Buddha). In so doing I try to give up my desires, make my heart vacant and make room for Buddha to live in me. I try to do this day by day. And this commitment is important for making my work and for extending the Shigaraki tradition.  Another way of thinking about this is: Who I am, is myself... changing in spirit and soul, day by day.
I have ancestors and many good friends. I was born in Shigaraki. I have my own history which, fortunately, included being a mendicant and being swindled while in poverty. Who I am is this: I am now, in this moment, a result of my unique past: a result of how I have received and thought about the many opportunities and circumstances given to me in life. My works are the only things (like them) in the world at the moment that I made them.
Yet I always make works which are in line with the Shigaraki tradition and, because of my individuality, they also extend the Shigaraki tradition. But what is most important is what is inside our minds: the thoughts coming from our philosophy and religion make our work (jobs/tasks) and our works (pottery/sculpture). We are able to express our ‘fullof-life’ attitude in our pots, no more than at this moment. So I can say to you that one can make one’s works according to one’s abilities at the moment. Our ability, therefore, is not only in technique, but our thoughts, our way of living, and so on.

I asked Shiho Kanzaki who are the contemporary potters whose work he admires, what it is he likes about their work and why it is that their work appeals to him more than the work of other contemporary potters?
I greatly respect two potters: the master potters, Suketoshi Matsuyama and Hakuou Kanou. Before I built my anagama kiln, I visited many potters living in the pottery centres throughout Japan. I saw many of their works. There were only two potters whose works touched my heart:
Suketoshi Matsuyama and Hakuou Kanou.
I first visited Suketoshi Matsuyama in 1972, before I built my anagama kiln in Shigaraki. He invited me to his thatched studio to show me his works. He brought out his works from his store room and placed them, piece by piece, on the tatami mats. At that moment, I patted myself on my knees, in spite of myself. I was amazed, and the works impressed themselves on my spirit: “Here it is. The work for which I have been searching, for long years.” The works... many works, were now in front of me.
The shapes of all his works were simple, and were reflective of his daily life. But some of the pieces had sharp cut marks (which had been made with a wooden or metal tool) which ran from the bottom to the top or from the top to the bottom. I trembled at seeing the cut marks.  Matsuyama said that at the moment when he cut the surface of his works, he had made himself a ‘samurai’ – a Japanese warrior. All his works had a rich natural ash deposit. At this time, I had not been able to find any other potters who were currently making this kind of natural ash deposit works. I felt his tenderness and life coming through his simply-shaped works. Yet his cut works were full of strength. I could see the beauty of creation in non-intention in his works. I was so impressed with his works that I found myself wondering whether what I was seeing was real, or a dream. In the following years, I visited his studio many times. He generously offered to teach me all that he knew.  And in 1974, he permitted me to call myself his apprentice.  Hakuou Kanou is a priest of the Zen (Buddhist) sect, a black-and-white painter (Chinese ink painting and calligraphy) and a potter. He taught me his way of making tea bowls. And he shared his basic thoughts about tea ceremony. At the tea ceremony, the host puts his thoughts in his guest’s position, and the guest also puts his own thoughts in the host’s place – they always try to think of each others’ point of view, according to a precept from (Zen) Buddhism.
He invited me into his tea room. He entered the room with a towel over the edge of a metal washbowl in his left hand, and a vacuum thermos bottle in his right hand (not the normal utensils for tea ceremony).  This way of entering the room seemed strange to me. But after I had drunk much tea, I could understand why he had arrived in this manner: in this circumstance, the washbowl, the towel, and the thermos bottle were the right tools, because he served me 13 bowls of tea.  The utensils for tea ceremony are controlled by many requirements and regulations, according to each tradition (school) of tea. The first, second and third time that he served me tea, the bowls were beautiful, and well within the requirements of tea ceremony.  However, as he continued to serve me tea, one after the other, using different tea bowls each time, my feelings began to change little by little. One bowl had no foot; another had such a small foot that the pot did not sit stably and almost spilled; the rim of yet another was sharp like the teeth of a saw; and finally, one bowl appeared to have been made to be used as an ash tray.
Each time he served me tea, he said only, “This tea bowl is good.” And then when I began feeling a little strange about his choice of tea bowls, he said, “This tea bowl is better than all the others before, isn’t it?” And when he served tea from the bowl with the saw teeth and from the ash tray, he said “These are the best tea bowls, don’t you think?”
Beyond this, he never said another word. I was thinking and thinking...  pondering what he wanted to tell me by all this. He sat there in front of me during all the time of my thinking, and he offered no words.  I looked at the tea bowls for long hours. I began to feel a sense of freedom from the tea bowls: all of the bowls exhibited a tender heart, revealed his strength of spirit and his feelings of delicate sensibilities. Finally I decided to tell him my feelings. I said to him, “I gain a feeling of freedom from your tea bowls. Your tea bowls are telling me that one has to be free always, and to make tea bowls with the feeling of freedom. One need not think about the regulations of tea bowls. After all, as we know, the founder of tea ceremony selected as the best bowls, pots which were being used by farmers as common utensils of their daily lives.” He only gave me an affirmative nod.  Both of these two potters’ works reveal life, spirit and thoughtfulness.  And their magnificent technique is indeed superior to others’ techniques. But these technical skills are behind their works. I don’t think that I need to make my works new through some technique. Their works have taught me this. And you may think that only new things are able to extend the tradition. But I can say this: our own spirits and our lives are what make our own works... and they are what extend the tradition.

Dick Lehman is a potter and writer who lives, works and maintains a full-time studio in Goshen, Indiana, USA.

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