Pathway to Japanese Literature

Ceramics Primer

The History of Ceramics

The history of ceramics is ancient; if we venture into archaeology's domain, there is no end to it, nor is it a matter about which I can speak knowledgeably.
Yet it remains certain there was an age when ceramics occupied civilization's vanguard—when masters of the craft were honored with appellations like "Tile Doctor."
We remember learning in elementary school histories how these Tile Doctors came from Baekje.
In later epochs, swept by time's currents, there were periods when they basked in patrician patronage and aristocratic regard; others when they were deemed mere laborers—lowly souls inhabiting mountain huts with clay and wheels through eras when none glanced their way.

Now in the Showa era, with national fortunes rising splendidly, the study of ceramics—once regarded merely as antiques or tea masters’ leisurely diversions—flourished with each passing day.
It truly was as strange as it was that they had been so utterly neglected until now.
When humans receive life and part from the breast, they seek sustenance through bowls and attempt to grasp two chopsticks.
It is an unbreakable bond with bowls that sustain us thrice daily.
When considering what we benefit most from among the things surrounding humans, a certain forestry professor stated it was plants.
Indeed, wood must play a significant role in human life.
Houses, desks, chests of drawers, trays—and so on.
Iron, copper, and other minerals—and so on.
Yet nevertheless, it cannot be denied that ceramics too are extensively incorporated into human life.
Moreover, this interaction between ceramics and humanity is accompanied by a certain fascination—resonating in such a way that—

There may be those who devote their minds to architecture and those who immerse themselves in kimonos; however, when it comes to something that exists within daily life at all hours—something one can enjoy without making great material sacrifices—nothing compares to ceramics.
To mention this might invite discussions of priceless tea caddies and bowls, but such matters lie beyond the scope of this text.
I would now attempt to speak of ceramics based on my meager understanding—needless to say, these are merely my personal reflections—and I harbor no presumptuous intentions of teaching or guiding others.
As I myself wished to study, this act of rewriting my thoughts became itself a form of "study".

Approach to Ceramics

So, how should one approach viewing ceramics? There must naturally be an order to discussing such matters, but as I am a newspaper journalist writing these thoughts in snatched moments amidst my busy schedule, I may not be able to provide a systematic account. I shall simply set down my thoughts as they come to mind.

I will add one important thing in conclusion: when I speak of ceramics here, it refers specifically to glazed ceramics. I may perhaps cite examples such as Han Dynasty Chinese earthenware or Japanese Shukube pottery, but I wish to make clear from the outset that the principal subject here is "glazed ceramics."

Era

Understanding the Era

To appreciate artistic crafts, one must understand their era.
Everyone should know this is paramount, yet in practice it remains unrealized.
Some argue that merely observing the object itself suffices.
They claim knowing its essence alone should suffice——such assertions circulate.
Perhaps that approach holds merit.
Yet if one could discern the era that birthed such wares, their appreciation would deepen and their critical standards heighten.
Had one truly grasped an era's distinctive character, their engagement with its artifacts would clarify profoundly——enabling them to breathe in rhythm with that age.

From the Nara to Heian periods when lacquerware flourished, through the Kamakura period when ceramics finally emerged—after passing through what might be called a dark age—came their development from the late Ashikaga to Momoyama eras and early Tokugawa period alongside the rise of tea ceremony; particularly, the Korean Campaigns bestowed such influence on Japan’s subsequent kiln industry that it was dubbed the “Ceramics War.” ——Then came the decline of ceramics accompanying tea ceremony’s degradation post-Tokugawa: imitations, pseudo-artistic techniques, and such.
The worship of Western styles since the Meiji Restoration and the obsequiousness of export-oriented goods.
When viewed in this manner, I found myself bewildered by the sheer volume of topics requiring explanation.
Therefore, to gain a conceptual understanding of history, I created a “Chronology” as an appendix and omitted detailed explanations here.

What I wish to emphasize here is that one must understand the era; ceramics do not take form by chance nor emerge haphazardly. I want you to understand that they are invariably born from their era.

【Ashikaga Period Tea Ceremony】

During the Ashikaga period, when Zen Buddhist monks immersed themselves in the tea ceremony, an unmistakable Zen sensibility permeated every aspect of their practice. There existed a spirit of relinquishment—the belief that serving tea and rice in bowls and partaking of them constituted life’s greatest happiness. Therefore, this ideal manifested itself in both tea bowl forms and ordinary bowl shapes. This transitioned into the opulent Momoyama period, where the ever-changing eras of Tokugawa rule invariably left their imprint on ceramics. Figures like Ninsei, Kōetsu, and Kenzan—though remarkable—ultimately emerged as creations of their respective epochs. Even those who seemed to rebel against their age were fundamentally carried along by its currents. To comprehend an era is to understand its ceramics—an indispensable principle for true appreciation.

**The Longevity of Ceramics**

Ceramics outlive humans.
Even when shattered into fragments, they endure.
They persist even when buried in earth alongside humanity.
Heirloom pieces particularly appear before us through successive eras with historical fascination; the storage bag, the box itself, its inscriptions, its cords—even a single paper slip affixed to it—all narrate their era of creation.

**Historical Specimens**

Cultural historical materials possess heirloom ceramics in abundance; even fragments lying in the soil are securely preserved.
The form of a vessel speaks of its era, the quality of its material speaks of its place of production, and its decorated patterns speak of the culture of that age—in sum, a single vessel becomes a historical specimen through which one can examine all aspects: past cultures, trade, and ethnic interactions.

Form

Form—Figure.
From the perspective of appreciation, form comes first.
Even with unglazed earthenware or tileware, one is first and foremost drawn to their form—figure.
Above all else, the beauty of form is paramount.
Whether it be a tea caddy worth a hundred thousand gold coins or a ten-sen earthenware teapot.

**Lines Born of the Era**

The lines of this form were undoubtedly born from their era itself—lines shaped by their time.
Take even a single tea bowl: those originating in China's Song Dynasty and brought to Japan's Kamakura period, or their imitations—first used in Zen Buddhist tea rituals before being adopted for formal tea ceremonies—gradually became everyday utensils among commoners.
Observing this evolution reveals how forms initially modeled after Tenmoku tea bowls transformed to meet each successive era's needs.
Even with modern teacups, we cannot know if they were originally conceived as such from inception.
Some cylindrical tea bowls began as repurposed serving dishes; others like the Kyōgen trouser-style tubular celadon with inlaid designs raise questions about their original intent—perhaps these too were vessels adapted from different functions.
In essence, even so-called cheap goods among daily utensils were never born overnight.

**Teapot Lid**

In any case, even observing just the development of ceramic forms proved fascinating, but if one always kept in mind that these forms were rooted in their era, interest would arise whether examining a ten-sen old earthenware teapot or merely a single teapot lid.
Illustration (B) appeared to have been made for the lid of an earthenware teapot or jar but had likely been discarded due to poor craftsmanship.
It had been excavated during an old kiln dig.
Even this solitary lid contained ample intrigue in its form.
First came throwing the lid on a potter's wheel, then creating undulations across its surface before attaching the knob.
This very knob possessed such quality that people today could not casually replicate it with ease.
People of old likely produced these in great quantities effortlessly.
Just as jar handles might radiate vigor or appear lifelessly limp, even a simple knob revealed gradations of excellence.
Turning over the lid's underside revealed carving matching foot-trimming techniques—thoroughly deep cuts made with full command of the wheel's motion—evoking Song Dynasty ceramic bases.
A single lid unearthed from soil could hold infinite fascination depending on one's perspective—far beyond what my brush might capture.
How much more so complete vessels!

**String-cut Base**

Having discussed only the shape of lids up to this point, we can fully enjoy even such a small thing as this.
These lids were produced alongside tea caddies worth tens of thousands of gold coins, water jars, and tea bowls.
They became divided—one group as heirloom pieces enshrined in golden halls and jade towers, the other as mere remnants buried beneath weeds through countless seasons.
Even fragments were no exception.
Even so-called celebrated masterpieces were no different when stripped bare.
The excellence of a fragment’s string-cut base was no different from that of a tea caddy worth tens of thousands of gold coins.
I include here an illustration (Figure B).
These string-cut bases were fragments from water droppers, small jars, and areas around plate bases.
How astonishing this string-cut base! How masterful this string-trimmed base! One could discern a “goodness” here that would not pale in comparison to any celebrated masterpiece or renowned tea container—such was the conviction it inspired.

**Perception of Lines**

Though my discussion had strayed into examining string-cut bases, I had not yet addressed form in its entirety.
Yet I likely need not belabor detailed explanations about form anew.
One need only observe the movement of lines to fully comprehend this.
The mouth's contour, shoulder, swell descending from hipward curves or arches, foot—the flow of these lines renders vessels both gentle and strong.
It makes them appear solemn yet refined.
The beauty of symmetry; symmetry found within asymmetry.
This constitutes form's beauty—but one's standard of discernment lies in how deeply they perceive the beauty of lines composing that form.

That is to say, even a small tea bowl may possess lines that make one feel a grandeur as though swallowing the vast sky. Conversely, even among large tea bowls, there exist those whose lines impart an undeniably cramped and constricted sensation. Herein lies the grand and minute, the strong and weak, the cold and hot in the workings of lines.

When we speak of lines, they are not planar—it refers to lines viewed three-dimensionally. The beauty of form deepens or shallows depending on how we perceive lines—what exactly is this perception of lines? When matters reach this point, though it may invite contentious debate, does it not ultimately come down to one’s innate aptitude for embracing the suggestions radiated by lines, the vigor of mental engagement, and the reinvigoration of knowledge? In appreciation, individuality emerges; consequently, in how collected items too reveal individuality—is it not here that the sensibility and knowledge of those very people manifest themselves?

We need not feel regret over being unable to purchase fine ceramic pieces at exorbitant prices.
To us, heaven has bestowed materials that can be savored with infinite fascination even in a single broken lid of this earthenware teapot.
Whether they be lids, poor man’s sake flasks, oil dishes, herring dishes, earthenware teapots, rice bowls, pouring vessels, or small bowls—so long as there exists a form born from its era within them, the first step of appreciation is granted.

**Glaze**

**Glaze**

That which decorates the completed form is decorative patterns and glaze.
Decorative patterns were applied since the Jōmon period, as seen in what we call Jōmon pottery, bearing various designs.
There were also instances where decorative patterns were painted on earthenware.
Such patterns can still be observed today on Han Dynasty earthenware and similar pieces.
Yet ceramics are first and foremost adorned through glaze.
It is through this glaze's texture that ceramic vessels endear themselves to us.
Glaze further beautifies the completed form, intensifying the aura radiated by the ware.

It is in the transformation of this glaze that interest grows more profound.
The fascination for those who fire ceramics also lies in the transformation of glaze.

**Mysteries of the Kiln**

Glaze is a mineral substance that melts when flux components exert their power, when affinity with the clay body exists, and when all other requisite conditions align.
As this glaze melts across a vessel’s surface and undergoes further transformations, it bestows upon ceramics a singular mysterious allure.
However superlative a glaze one might apply—should the flux prove insufficiently active; should incompatibility arise between clay body and glaze; should firing temperatures prove inadequate; should placement within the kiln prove ill-advised—then glaze and clay might repel one another; cracks might spiderweb outward; flakes might peel away; full chromatic expression might never emerge.
In such cases, glazed decoration fails to achieve completion.
Yet precisely within this incompletion arises a kind of scenery—a phenomenon from which vessels brimming with charm are born—and herein resides the kiln’s mystery.
I have always spoken of what I term “kōchū sōgon jōdo”—the solemn pure land within the kiln.
The kiln’s interior constitutes a realm apart—one that defies reduction to mere logic or capitulation to science’s unilateral assault—and this very intractability forms its fascination.
Herein lies its essential mystery.

For instance, when fire was kindled and ash formed, this ash would whirl through the kiln with flames to settle upon vessels—there, combining with certain components in the clay body through dynamic interaction, it could unexpectedly produce glazes of unforeseen hues. Conversely, by deliberately underfiring, artisans employed an inverse approach to create vessels of Shino ware’s pristine purity.

A glaze containing the same copper components may manifest as blue or red, while iron, manganese, feldspar, and other minerals achieve wondrous transformations through diverse conditions and opportunities.
Herein lies the fascination of glaze—even a monochromatic glaze will display multiple variations where the fire touches and where it does not, creating diverse landscapes.

The tea masters of old admired these transformations of glaze, bestowing poetic names upon them and cherishing them deeply.
The myriad transformations of glaze are an essential beauty that ceramics possess.

**Decorative Patterns**

Ceramics are decorated not only through glaze but also by means of decorative patterns.
These patterns include those applied before glazing through techniques such as comb marks and inlay—where patterns are created using combs, nails, or spatulas and then glazed as-is—as well as those where white clay is inlaid into carved areas depicting cloud and crane motifs before glazing.
There are also those decorated through *e-tsuke*—where patterns are drawn on vessels using iron or cobalt (gosu), over which glaze is then applied.
These include techniques such as E-Gōrai (painted Goryeo-style), sometsuke (blue-and-white), and shinsha (cinnabar red), where in Raku-style soft pottery, various colors are painted beneath a transparent glaze.

**Underglaze Decoration and Overglaze Decoration**

The aforementioned painted decoration (*e-tsuke*) is termed underglaze decoration (*shitae-tsuke*), while decorative patterns painted atop the glaze are called overglaze decoration (*uwae-tsuke*).
Red overglaze enamels belong to this latter category.
This means decorative patterns were applied at a lower temperature onto vessels that had already been glazed and fired once.
Furthermore, there existed decorations that combined both underglaze and overglaze techniques.

The act of applying these patterns above or below the glaze served unquestionably to enhance the vessels' beauty.
This decorative method fulfilled two purposes: elevating the objects' refinement and compensating for perceived deficiencies.
Take *mentori*—a technique frequently seen on Joseon-period jars and bottles where six or eight facets were cut away to create angular decoration.
While this faceting alone sufficed as ornamentation, artisans further embellished them by applying underglaze patterns using gosu (cobalt), iron (black), or cinnabar (red).
Though *mentori* itself constituted complete decoration, painted designs were added to each facet to introduce variation.
This practice served to heighten *mentori*'s distinctive characteristics.

Moreover, there were instances where decoration was applied to compensate for defects in ceramic objects.
The emergence of Goryeo celadon and similar wares involved importing Chinese celadon techniques; however, due to differences in clay body and glaze, they could not attain the same level of beauty as their Chinese counterparts.
Not attaining the exquisite beauty of what were called Yu Guo Tian Qing ("sky-after-rain blue") or Bise ("secret color") glazes, they instead became celadon with a somewhat grayish tinge.
It was said that to compensate for these perceived flaws(?), various decorative techniques developed—such as drawing patterns with iron, employing brush-marked decoration using white clay slip, creating cloud and crane motifs through inlay, or combining these methods—thereby giving rise to diverse ornamental approaches.
In Japanese ceramics as well, there were instances where decorative techniques developed to compensate for defects.

**Hakuan’s Tea Bowl**

I cannot say whether this qualifies as a proper example, but take Hakuan’s Tea Bowl—fussily celebrated though it may be. Likely born of Seto kilns, that bowl struck most viewers less as a masterwork and more as a kind of utilitarian ware.
It was said that Hakuan’s Tea Bowl had several points of interest, one of which was a cascading glaze pattern reminiscent of sea cucumbers, thought to result from copper or iron’s chromatic effects.
This exhibited an intriguing coloration of reds, indigos, and whites; its medicinal cascade emerged from a single cord embedded in the tea bowl’s body.
This cord had clay slip lightly applied to the potter’s wheel.
It might have developed color intriguingly and flowed.
This was but a passing fancy with no factual basis whatsoever, yet I wished to note how such flaw-compensating decoration could create scenic effects—though this did not mean every Hakuan tea bowl followed this principle.
One might even say such cases existed only in imagination.

Among bowls produced in southern Korea, there were some with their bases filled with iron-based filler.
This occurred when a flaw formed in the base during foot-trimming or similar work; to mend it, they applied readily available iron-based filler from their surroundings—this filler effectively concealed the flaw, forming a kind of scenic effect, and such pieces were often discovered among excavated items.
This, too, was a case where defects were compensated for.
However, when we speak of “defects” here, we do not refer to these teacups’ incidental compensatory measures; rather, we mean inherent flaws in the clay body, glaze, or form that necessitate remediation through the application of underglaze decoration, overglaze decoration, or glaze itself.

As one contemplated the transformations of glazes—the mysteries within the kiln, Tenmoku glazes, amber hues, yellows, Oribe, Shino, and the myriad motives behind their emergence alongside shifts across eras—the fascination deepened; even within what we call Kizeto ware, the yellow shifted with each changing period.
Kizeto ware—which one might speculate began not as yellow, but with the discovery of a naturally faint yellow hue that artisans pursued and intensified—the evolution of its glaze into the Kizeto of later eras and modern times constituted another kind of chronicle of the ages.
It was precisely because an era found delight in it that its decorative method endured.
Yet the unadorned beauty of primitive times had perished, and yellows striving to be Kizeto came to dominate.
Moreover, regarding fluxes—what kind of wood ash had they used in antiquity? Did those trees still exist today? If they did, were they not easily obtainable? In any case, “No matter how mightily we strive, we cannot reproduce the old yellows,” as artisans lamented today.
We understood that they used ash-based fluxes, but the fact that even modern science could not replicate this was precisely where the fascination of ceramics lay.

**Potter’s Wheel**

When spinning the potter’s wheel, today’s wheels rotated too mechanically and with excessive precision, rendering impossible the creation of those expansive forms from ages past.
“Unless we track down some rickety old wheel,” lament today’s artisans, “we can’t work with those unhurried wheels.”

One cannot help but ponder the "era" that was fully served by a wobbly potter’s wheel.

**Age**

**Tradition**

Age was tradition.
Artifacts termed renowned pieces or great renowned pieces were esteemed both for their quality and their antiquity.
The connections, anecdotes, and written records that linked to an artifact with a clearly defined historical age were carefully preserved.
When a tea caddy was rumored to have sold for tens of thousands of yen, those who heard it would exclaim “Good heavens!” in astonishment.
This might have been due to the item’s quality, but the value of age had also been added.
However, depending on one’s perspective, the joy of that age was not beyond our ability to savor—even we paupers.
That depended on where each and every person set their heart.
Whether a tea caddy worth tens of thousands of yen or one valued at merely fifty sen today, they might have been born from the same clay, within the same kiln, having undergone the same baptism of fire.
The fragments excavated from Seto’s ancient kilns might have been fired alongside the tea caddies that were today considered great renowned pieces.
One was passed down through the ages, while the other was likely discarded near the kiln due to being broken; or perhaps, lacking a discerning eye to recognize its worth, it ended up languishing among the common classes until modern times, eventually falling into the hands of some backstreet antique dealer where it remained dust-covered even now.
Tracing their lineage, they likely emerged from a single kiln, yet there existed connections and disconnections recognized by humans.

Renowned pieces may indeed be fine works, but that does not mean all those fired in the same kiln were inferior.
One of them fortunately came into the hands of a powerful figure, and because there was no longer enough land to award for military merits during the Warring States period, they passed tea caddies to the valiant generals—then enamored with the burgeoning tea ceremony—as substitutes for medals.
These became tea caddies that replaced entire domains and castles. As they passed from one owner to another through their masters' downfalls or deaths, they generated tragedies, feats of valor, refined elegance, and all manner of episodes—documents chronicling these tales were transmitted alongside them, allowing such pieces to command prices worth tens of thousands in gold even today.
Tea caddies and bowls that, if stripped bare, might well be proclaimed siblings exist in our humble possession, while others reside in double- or triple-layered boxes, dressed in two or five kinds of brocade garments.

Why, those pieces flaunting their gold may have been born in the same potato shed as us paupers—one might say ceramics whisper truths akin to what people mutter about others. However, I shall not dwell here on the emotional beauty inherent in heirloom transmission traditions. Those transmitted pieces likely possess greater luster than today's excavated fragments with their coarse surfaces—surfaces cherished for centuries through warm human contact. Yet I maintain that even fragments, or shopfront wares priced at fifty sen or twenty-five sen, must not be scorned.

Age—all things old share this quality of antiquity, yet the true worth borne by age cannot be measured in gold.
The reason lies in their nature as crafts born of their era—possessing a quality of age and excellence that could not be reproduced even if today's world were turned upside down.
To appreciate this age constitutes yet another pleasure granted to us paupers; by understanding the era and recognizing excellence in an object's form and glaze, one may simultaneously grasp its antiquity without paying exorbitant sums—acquiring it for the price of an evening café outing and thereby partaking in pure, untainted joy.

What has been discussed above applies to the old era before the advent of inscriptions and can also be said of everyday kitchen utensils produced since inscriptions first appeared.
Seed jars made for farming implements are sometimes discovered and command prices worth a thousand gold pieces today, but even without relying on such rare fortune, one may find unexpectedly aged and fine pieces of interest among farming and fishing tools, or chance upon vessels of surprising antiquity in remote village shops.

**Inscriptions and Marks**

Next came the matter of inscriptions and marks.
These inscriptions had long been revered as an artist's signature—appearing on vessel bases or bodies, or preserved within storage boxes.
Such markings teemed with forgeries, their dubiousness increasing proportionally with the artist's renown.
Should one fixate solely on these inscribed credentials, they might seize upon objects utterly devoid of age or merit.
Thus must we disregard inscriptions entirely, piercing instead to ceramics' essential quality and antiquity.
Though daunting, this becomes feasible through extensive examination and—as I've long maintained—through perceiving artifacts' relationship to their era. Yet since this proves difficult for many, those relying on inscriptions should keep "era" paramount, absorbing both "period script" and "epochal imprint."
No imitation of era-specific calligraphy ever truly succeeds—the blood of age courses through human nerves, leaving every mimicry hollow. The falsehood lies not in forged strokes but in discordant rhythms and hesitations; even characters etched with brush, spatula, or nail betray this void.
Seals follow suit.
Rather than obsessing over seal shapes, heed the imprinting rhythm—the vital force distinguishing true masters from forgers.
Superior vessels invariably bear superior script and seals.
Grasp this crux, and safety follows.

**Know the Artist**

Somehow, having expounded up to this point, I came to feel as though I were explaining authentication methods in an overly grandiose manner.
That was not my intention; I had wished to speak about individual artists' works.
When a piece's status as an individual artist's work becomes clear, and a certain emotional connection to that artist emerges through transmission, our ceramic appreciation gains deeper interest.
Understanding an artist's era and lineage, knowing their anecdotes and signature techniques - this adds unique fascination.
Moreover, with old works by individual artists, one can approach them with a refinement one step removed from living artists we know today.
To phrase it thus - though current artists may take offense - knowing artists well brings both benefits and drawbacks; this holds true beyond ceramics to painting and calligraphy.
Paintings cherished in alcoves before meeting their creators often grow distasteful afterward - a tale frequently heard.
For those approaching artists with deep understanding this matters not, but among others such stories commonly circulate.

Artists too are human.
Particularly among artists, many possess distinctive traits that set them apart from ordinary people precisely through their devotion to art.
Their emotions may run fierce; they might be narrow-minded, stubborn, or disregard commitments—were ordinary people to critique them, they would surely voice all manner of criticisms.
Thus there are instances where knowing them makes matters significantly worse, and others where knowing them leads to marked improvement.
This constitutes the difficulty—everything grows troublesome precisely because human interactions beyond the work itself come directly into play.
When harmonious, relationships between artists and would-be appreciators may bind both parties with intense passion; when discordant, the degree of repulsion becomes severe.
For that very reason—because one engages with living humans beyond mere artifacts—it may prove interesting depending on one’s perspective, though in some cases otherwise.

In that regard, old artifacts were safe.
Since artists existed in the past, what we realistically interacted with were solely the artifacts.
Even when familiar with individual artists, remarks like "That creator was apparently a stubborn old man" or "They say he was practically treated as a madman" led one to perceive the artists' idiosyncrasies as transcending mere hearsay, thereby adding an intriguing dimension.
Therefore, our attitude in appreciating old artifacts remained more composed than toward newer ones.
By calmly appreciating them, one could discern the true worth of the vessels themselves.
This leisurely yet composed appreciation, and being able to freely select pieces while consulting our means, became yet another of our pleasures.

Touch.

**Handling**

Ceramics are to be seen with the eyes—and to be touched with the hands—that is what matters.
In the tea ceremony, they strictly prescribe how to handle bowls—this likely speaks of protocol: treating ceramics with care, ensuring they are never dropped. Yet its true purpose may lie in savoring tactile sensation.
Touching to closely examine craftsmanship, appreciating every corner meticulously, and embracing the vessel's inherent dignity—these were undeniably essential conditions.
One must never overlook that all ceramics' tactile quality holds vital importance.

If an artifact bore a sign declaring “Do not touch,” one would be limited to observing its form and decoration, unable to examine the crucial details at its base.
This would be akin to viewing museum displays—whether Chōjirō’s tea bowl “Gen’ō” or Ninsei’s authentic jar, one could not examine the foot’s tautness, vigor, or clay texture; such pieces became veritable “disappointments” when deprived of these essential qualities.

**Ceramics: A Tactile Study**

Whether it be a humble sake flask or an everyday tea bowl, the act of touching them remains an essential condition for appreciation.
Heavy or light—not merely weight—but stroking them with one’s hands to feel infinite affection; cradling them in one’s palms to awaken utmost reverence.
This constitutes a necessary condition for tactile engagement with ceramics.
“It must never be ‘Do not touch’—it must instead be ‘Touch without restraint.’”

Clay texture

Even among celadon wares, many pieces from the Song Dynasty revealed their clay body.
Moreover, numerous works were fired that concealed the clay body entirely.
The ceramics created during China's Song Dynasty—setting aside Ming Dynasty porcelain with its blue-and-white and red overglaze enamels—marked an era when the most artistic works in Chinese ceramics emerged, pieces that resonate profoundly with modern Japanese sensibilities.
Their style brimmed with vitality while laying bare their clay texture with exceptional clarity.
A mastery bordering on the sublime.

Korean, Japanese, and ceramics of diverse origins likewise revealed their clay textures abundantly.
In Korea itself, clay textures differed between southern, northern, and central regions; in Japan naturally they varied by province and kiln.
This clay texture constitutes the most immutable standard for savoring regional distinctions.

The essence of clay—it was somewhat elusive.
But first, knowing the clay was crucial.
In days of old, potters shouldered sacks and roamed nations, mountains, and hills in search of clay; they soaked the clay collected in their sacks in water, tried firing it, and no doubt repeated various trials and errors.
Potters must have each harbored a single dream; seeking clay suitable for creating ceramics close to that dream would have been paramount. Then, whether the glaze they aimed for would harmonize perfectly with the clay—the potters searched for soil, sought water flows, considered fuel trees to establish their kiln site, and only when all conditions somehow aligned did they finally set down their bundles.
Then the kiln was opened—but this alone could not account for everything.
In modern times, with transportation networks developed, one could have their desired clay transported to desired locations; but in the past, as this was not possible, it was commonly believed that regional classifications could largely be determined by clay texture.
And indeed, that was the case.
However, there were powerful daimyo who would naturally transport soil within their own domains using boats and such, and there were indeed instances where they would secretly dispatch artisans to other domains or obtain soil from those domains to create ceramics.
Therefore, one could not definitively assert that once the clay was identified, it could simply be deemed a product of its locality; however, by first grasping the general characteristics of the clay, then understanding the glazes and recognizing shifts in techniques, the birth of a ceramic piece came into clear focus, growing ever more fascinating.

**Technique**

Clay texture—knowing the clay and understanding its essence.
It was an essential matter.

Now, I had spoken of techniques, but the introduction of Korean methods into Japan had already been discussed.
Even when employing identical base-forming methods, Korean base-trimming profoundly influenced Kyushu's kilns—most notably evident in Hizen's earthenware—while traces of Korean lineage flowed through Hagi in Nagato and Tanba's ancient sites.
This could naturally be comprehended through careful examination of bases across numerous vessels.
Fragments excavated from Seto-lineage kilns dating to extreme antiquity often evoked impressions akin to witnessing bases from China's Song Dynasty.

Distortion.

The characters for "imperfection" (不) and "correctness" (正) pressed together form the character for "distortion" (「ゆがむ」).

Even if ceramics were formed into the correct shape, distortion arose during drying; in bisque firing, further warping occurred; and when glazed and fired, yet more distortion emerged.
In terms of size, they shrank by approximately twenty percent from when first thrown on the potter’s wheel.
If pressed by other vessels fired alongside them, or due to fluctuations in the kiln’s heat, they might distort, warp, dent, or crack within the kiln.
This I would call natural distortion.

People of old found fascination in how these natural distortions created a kind of scenic effect that added charm, bestowing various poetic names and crafting narratives around them.
However, as eras declined and aesthetic tastes deteriorated, people began misinterpreting these natural distortions, refusing to acknowledge any ceramic piece that lacked an intentionally warped feature.
And so they went so far as to deliberately distort, dent, warp, and create unnatural unevenness from the very moment of throwing on the potter’s wheel.
This bad taste extended not only to tea utensils but to all domains—though inevitable due to the era—we must still endure the sight of crafts marred by these artificially distorted ceramics to this day.
If one were to call artificially distorted works “commonplace elegance,” then how lamentable it was that even today in Shōwa—through Meiji and Taisho—we still encountered so many of these so-called elegant works steeped in mediocrity!

The reason fine pieces exist among old works lies in their abundance of proper forms and naturally occurring distortions in altered pieces, combined with their creators' ignorance of the unnatural, intentional unevenness considered elegant from the mid-Tokugawa period onward. That is to say, it was because these ceramics were born in an auspicious era when all conditions proved favorable.

Ceramics from the mid-Tokugawa period—particularly those postdating the Kasei era—were not universally inferior. Even within Kyoto alone, where master artisans like Mokubei and Eisen emerged in great numbers, these distinguished craftsmen differed from potters swept along by their era's currents through their resolute spirits and profound inner convictions. Yet generally speaking, prevailing tastes—steeped in counterfeit refinement—mistook distorted works for objects of beauty.

These "unnaturally distorted creations"—if one could clearly discern even these—would first reveal the warning signs. Yet precisely because mediocrity had taken root through long history, its foundations ran truly deep. Unless we tore out these weeds by their roots, vulgar distortions would keep resurfacing—much like how even today, trivialized forms of *haikai*, such as barbershop verses or competitive scoring games, still find amusement.

The visage of intentionally warped ceramics must be recognizable at a glance. It is toward this discernment that I urgently wish to advance.

**Regrettable Pieces**

Nothing surpasses a flawless vessel.
In the tea ceremony, even minute flaws are scrutinized with heightened sensitivity—a perfectly reasonable practice.
To fret over even the slightest crack or chip—while nothing surpasses an immaculate vessel—it simply will not do to present flawed pieces to guests.
Moreover, when having esteemed guests appreciate ceramic works, any flaw causes them unnecessary anxiety—allowing even a hint of precariousness to arise remains utterly impermissible.

Among tea practitioners, flaws were so meticulously scrutinized, yet there were also vessels whose flaws were permitted.
"If the flaw isn’t on the foot, then it’s acceptable"—I had heard such things said.
Those of us who were not tea practitioners could not grasp the nuances of such matters.
I had heard tales of tea masters of old who would deliberately break off the “ears” of flower vases to breathe new life into vessels—but that was the work of those with true discernment, whereas we lacked the wisdom to revitalize by destroying perfection.
However, setting aside such deeply felt matters, we could not obtain masterpieces.
Because we had no money.
Because we lacked the fortune befitting a lord’s domain and castle.
It truly felt vexing—but then again, depending on how one looked at it, I sometimes felt that masterpieces one could cherish with tranquil ease might still be obtained without spending a fortune.
Even among items that Rikyū, Enshū, Fumai, and the great tea masters and connoisseurs did not evaluate or rank, there might well be vessels that we could cherish with the same joy as obtaining a masterpiece.
To achieve this, one had to unearth what were called forgotten masterpieces—but whether such items held by others could be unearthed even once in a lifetime was rather doubtful.
In the end, if one was to pay the price, I thought it better to first turn one’s attention to flawed pieces.
I, who spoke thus, possessed nothing but tiles and stones—let alone masterpieces—and nine-tenths of these were flawed pieces. While I did find their flaws regrettable, I felt no particular loneliness over them.
I remained unfazed by flawed pieces—and yet intended for my heart to be rich—

Among ceramics dealers, these were called “Regrettable Pieces.” It was regrettable, they would say, when flaws like cracks, peeling glaze, or frayed edges appeared. You might already know what they meant by *muke*—the places where glaze had flaked off old blue-and-white porcelain—while *hotsure* referred to slight unraveling at a vessel’s rim. There might also be cracks. Such things were deemed Regrettable Pieces.

Consider a hypothetical case: a Regrettable Piece where only Jittoku remained from what should have been a pair of Kanzan and Jittoku scrolls by Shūgetsu, prompting the lament “Where is Kanzan?” As paired works, they would have been worth a thousand ryō if complete—but with one lost (“Ah, where is Kanzan?”), it became a Regrettable Piece bearing only Jittoku. Whether thirty yen or fifty—I cannot say precisely—but in ceramic terms, it could be acquired at a flawed piece’s price. Now imagine hanging this solitary scroll. One might presume it would be better with Kanzan present—yet in that very question of “Where has Kanzan gone?” lay its fascination. His absence lent depth; even with Jittoku alone, one felt no incompleteness. If Shūgetsu’s compositional mastery and vigor remained intact, might that not suffice? For us paupers, the intrigue lay precisely in Kanzan’s absence beyond our walls—this was no mere stubborn pride. Flawed ceramics followed the same principle.

This may sound rather presumptuous of me to say, but if I am to speak of the Regrettable Pieces in my possession—

Yellow Seto tea bowl.
An exceedingly old piece, its interior bore a boldly executed pressed-flower chrysanthemum pattern.
Had it not been for the flaw at its base, this piece would have commanded a fortune; yet as a Regrettable Piece, acquired for less than the cost of a single evening at a café, it warmed the heart of my humble abode.
Clay body, potter’s wheel, glaze—all were irresistibly good.
The base was raised, with scorched marks from kiln tools adhering to it—neither austere nor flamboyant, neither frivolous nor overly ponderous—a flawless Yellow Seto tea bowl.
At first glance, there was no sense of it being a Regrettable Piece.
It was simply that traditional tea practitioners disdained it as a “bottomless tea bowl.”

Old Hagi tea bowl.
Hagi ware was seldom encountered when it came to extremely old examples.
If any did exist, they could not be acquired without the means of the affluent.
It had been added to the furnishings of my humble abode solely because of a flaw in its foot.
The tea bowl’s form—the undulations endured through intense firing, its timeworn white patina, astringent stains—abounded with the virtues of Old Hagi ware. Yet with a flaw upon its foot, it effortlessly became a treasured furnishing for a mere ten-odd yen.
Even without serving tea, merely touching it with one’s hands and gazing upon it with one’s eyes—this alone held a value beyond measure.
It was not that pouring tea would cause leaks; rather, it was said that the cracked foot was considered unacceptable.
What a blessed flaw this is!

Annan tea bowl.
There existed an authentic Annan ware—but regrettably, a certain dealer said he merely looked at it without purchasing due to its flaw.
"What was its price?"
"The price of one bolt of meisen," he replied.
"In that case, please order it for me—that extraordinary tea bowl."

"If not for the large crack, this piece would have been recorded in the So-and-so Hermitage Tea Gathering chronicles as a masterpiece—but thankfully, the crack allowed it to become part of my collection."

"And so on—if I were to write of such things, I would at once be astonished by the sheer number of Regrettable Pieces and wish to express gratitude for the prosperity surrounding me thanks to these very pieces."

First, acquire.

I was often asked where one should begin to learn about ceramics.

It could begin with anything—collecting sake flasks would do. While their prices had once skyrocketed, they were now exceedingly cheap, not even worth ten percent of their former value.
That said, this did not mean the value of sake flasks had diminished.
Whether oil dishes or stone mortars, the same held true.
When items trended, their scarcity drove prices high due to supply and demand—but whether one acted before others or followed after, they could be enjoyed leisurely and at low cost.

The fascinating forms of sake flasks needed hardly any explanation.
They provided nearly all the necessary conditions for appreciating ceramics.
Those used in tea ceremonies commanded exorbitant prices, but ones deviating from tea ceremony standards in their large size could be joyfully acquired with mere pocket money.

Korean sake flasks of various types, Northern Kyushu sake flasks—Futagawa, Ueno, Kuromuta, Hyakkengama Kiln, and so on.
Bizen and others existed, but when it came to Tanba, various sake flasks emerged from Tachikui; as for the Seto vicinity—this went without saying—the Tōhoku region also had quite a number, with even unknown rural areas of Sendai producing them.
The forms of sake flasks were infinitely varied, and their decorations—from Korean-inspired designs to brush-marked patterns, striped motifs, Oribe-style works, red overglaze enamels, and more—were too numerous to list. Indeed, one could easily devote a lifetime to sake flasks and still find sustenance in their study.

Stone mortars, oil dishes, oil jars—such items had been amassed in considerable numbers—but beyond these, if one turned one’s attention to ordinary small dishes akin to detached *mukōzuke* pieces, water droppers, water pitchers, single-spouted vessels, bowl varieties, and everyday utensils, one could engage in ceaseless study while finding abundant enjoyment at modest cost.

Therefore，I must add one crucial point.

【Half-Truth】

That was what they called “Acquire!”
To seek—whether through purchase or receiving transfers from others—proved valid paths indeed.
Some might scorn the adage “You won’t know truth until buying” as vulgar wordsmithing, yet half-truth dwelled within its core principle.
One needed to relinquish held possessions or funds to obtain that object firsthand—this constituted not mere necessity but rather the swiftest path toward ceramic comprehension itself.
When enduring that visceral sting of expending personal coin—regardless whether acquired pieces proved worthy or wanting—the experience wrought extraordinary impact upon one’s grasp of fired clay arts proper.
Let scoffers deride such notions as unworthy of artistic discourse; between passive observers and those driven by acquisitive impulse (mistake not greed for devotion!), consider how profoundly possessive attachment might accelerate material understanding beyond measure.

Price.

In speaking thus, we ultimately arrive at the matter of value.

The matters of price, lucky finds, and securing genuine articles—these are topics that frequently arise in people’s conversations, but there seems little need to expound upon them in detail.

The matter of lucky finds is often spoken of.
If one were to purchase for ten yen something currently valued at a thousand yen, that would indeed be a lucky find—but this very desire for such bargains all too easily clouds one’s vision.
I have never made a lucky find; there can be no doubt that my eyes and judgment are poor.
However, there have been times when I thought myself fortunate to receive good ceramic pieces.
I am no fatalist who takes refuge in “luck,” but suppose we consider that there exists a degree of “fortune” in being blessed with the luck to obtain fine pieces—in acquiring good items at appropriate prices—and in securing opportunities to obtain desired pieces at fortuitously low costs.

No matter how impatient one became, no matter how much money one amassed, there were times when the desired piece simply could not be obtained. It was a state of impatience where one absolutely required a particular tea bowl—insisting that without such-and-such tea bowl, that water jar would never achieve harmony. Yet even if one grew so desperate, when affinity was absent, one could neither glimpse nor sense it.

If one maintains diverse aesthetic horizons, perhaps someday fortune may grant an encounter with fine pieces.
Let us obtain things that can be enjoyed constantly rather than such masterpieces.
People with broad aesthetic horizons can enjoy various 'things' at little cost.
That enjoyment too runs deep.
Just as those of wealth partake in pleasures afforded by a thousand gold coins, might we not also—with but a single silver coin—enjoy delights equal to those of a thousand gold?
No—our silver coins and modest banknotes are spent through acts of self-denial, differing entirely in spirit from those who casually sign checks to settle accounts.
The more earnest the effort, I believe, the deeper and more enduring grows the enjoyment.

Ultimately, it was the limit of one’s perspective. Yet precisely this mind’s eye—radiant at the focal point of one’s vision—required constant polishing. To perceive not merely ceramic objects’ surfaces but the essence they contained demanded that the mind’s eye itself hold substance. Empty eyes could never penetrate to an object’s true nature. How then might one fill this mental vision with content? That naturally differed according to each person’s approach. Some might contemplate the points previously discussed. My own mind’s eye remained perpetually clouded and dim. I resolved to strive with renewed determination.

To see good things, to know good things.
And does not the extent of each individual's mind's eye's perception ultimately make the final determination?

Singing of Delight

Mandarin Duck Water Dropper

From the hills of Seto—Noue

A single mandarin duck came flying,

One wing dyed yellow.

Snap-snap, click-click—preening its feathers.

The mold a pressed mold; clay coarse and old.

Flew here cradling water—

Seto’s mandarin duck—Noue

The beak—how adorable—the water dropper’s

Brisk spill of water—

Clay gray-yellowish……

Long, long ago, in ancient times

At the time when mandarin ducks were born—ah,

Seto’s Mandarin Duck — Noue

Mr. Tōshirō’s face, oh!

Was it sake they drank? Rice cakes they pounded?

Tōshirō, Tōshirō—they call his name,

Neither shadow nor form can be seen.

Without moving your beak,
Gushing water ceaselessly forth
Seto’s Mandarin Duck — Noue

Coming, coming, came flying here
Joining imagined wings, yet another bird
Now they’ve become a pair
On the desk through mornings and evenings
Beloved, cherished, mated birds
In place of mementos, the beak’s
The water of love spills onto the inkstone
How fragrant the ink’s aroma!
The mandarin duck’s soft underbelly — Noue

The potter's wheel marks spiral.
The string-cut base crisply, a spiraling vortex—
Pursuing ancient dreams endlessly—
The fountain of love’s vortex spiraling—

Beloved, cherished, two mandarin ducks
The shore of the inkstone’s sea,
In Nichinan’s old kiln spot it resides, oh!

Window-Painted Teapot

※ (Note: The character 栃 uses the radical from 朽 instead of 万) I went to Mashiko in Tochigi Prefecture four or five times.

At that time I became acquainted with an old woman who painted window designs, and as we grew familiar, whenever I would doodle, she would come over to watch.

“Granny, draw a plum blossom painting for me to see.”

When I made that request, she said “It’s crude, but—” and began to paint.

Granny was skilled when made to draw on curved vessels, but lost her touch when made to draw on paper.

Having painted on clay alone for fifty or sixty years without tiring of it, she seemed to find flat surfaces like paper difficult to work with.

“Hmm, maybe I’ll paint a ‘cheek-veiled plum’…” she mused while working. “There—cheek-veiled! This here’s the plum. Under the plum tree goes an orchid—and this is the orchid flower.”

The half-opened plum blossoms appeared as though humans had veiled their cheeks.
I do not know whether this counted as literati taste, but people of old were restrained—

A design depicting orchid flowers at the base of a plum tree was applied to commoners’ teapots—

This is called a window painting.
What—

Mr. Sakuma Tōtarō’s account: “Window-painted teapots were once Mashiko’s specialty, but we can’t make them anymore now.
“The other day there was an order, so we made a few though.”
“It’s difficult, you see—the window painting. You apply white clay in a circle on the teapot’s body where landscapes or birds-and-flowers designs appear, but keeping that perfectly round shape is the challenge.”
“Why do you make the teapot first, then dip it into that muddy white clay? Well—since you’re submerging the round body in the white slip, the soaked area naturally becomes circular.”
“That’s what forms the ‘window,’ you see.”
“So if the wheel-throwing is poorly done and the teapot isn’t shaped right, the window gets distorted or turns oval-shaped.”
“That’s why it’s difficult, you see.”
“The skill of old artisans who properly crafted cheap things like teapots yet left fine window paintings is truly remarkable.”

Window paintings, window paintings—

Even a ten- or twenty-sen teapot required the brilliance of skill to create masterpieces. Even clay paper had its merits; its appreciation was boundless—the proper shape of a teapot: that rounded swell of its body; were the twin handles sturdy? Was the spout well attached? Was its mouth well-formed? Did no hot water leak from the spout? The shape of the lid; the form of the knob—and then most crucially: with vines added to the handles, did the completed teapot’s form stand stable?

Dried in the sun, fired in flames, and thus made to desire this safety—such is the teapot.

Gold—do not call it coins.

An Evening Discourse on Ceramics

Classification

There exist scientific classification methods as well, but we customarily express them through simple terms like earthenware, high-fired unglazed ware, and stone-based ceramics.
Some connoisseurs employ the character compound “炻器” (stoneware) when referring to high-fired unglazed ware.

To put it simply: earthenware denotes pieces fired below 1,000°C that retain water absorption—items such as *Kawarake* tiles and *Kawara* roof tiles fall under what archaeology terms earthenware.
Pottery indicates glazed pieces fired between approximately 1,000°C and 1,200–1,300°C; though still porous, their fascinating transformations through kiln effects make them compelling. Japan’s regional kilns predominantly produced pottery, while China’s Cizhou ware (painted Goryeo-style) along with Korea’s brush-marked ware and Mishima inlay technique would also belong to this category.
High-fired unglazed ware constitutes non-absorbent pieces fired at slightly higher temperatures than pottery—though water may seep through if the clay body remains coarse, as seen in Bizen, Tokoname, and so-called Nanban-style wares.
Porcelain possesses translucency and glaze while being non-absorbent; its varieties include Kutani, Imari, Chinese blue-and-white wares, and celadons.
In my view, such fundamental distinctions generally suffice.

China

[Tang Sancai (Tri-Color Glazed Pottery)]

The true essence of glazes was decisively mastered and decoratively applied during China's Tang Dynasty—this constitutes what we call Tang Sancai (tri-color glazed pottery).
Even among jars—those designated as dragon-head jars—one finds varied decorations: some bear molded patterns affixed before glazing, while others display blue, amber, white, and cobalt glazes applied through diverse techniques.
Fascination arises when considering cultural exchanges between our two civilizations, evident in how these resemble textile patterns and techniques preserved in Japan's Shosoin Repository.
*Mingqi* burial objects were also prolifically created; these so-called funerary articles interred in nobles' tombs included human figures of various types, while animal sculptures and others exhibited forms and impressions of remarkable compositional integrity.
One may observe numerous beauty figures akin to those in the Shosoin's "Beauties Under Trees" screen.

When discussion turned to the Shosoin Repository, I should note in passing that numerous Tang Sancai-style bowl-shaped ceramics exist within its collection.
These had long been considered imports from Tang China, but Dr. Nakao Manzo conclusively determined them to be Japanese productions through comprehensive analysis of evidentiary materials.
The doctor presented various proofs refuting claims that Tenpyō-era artisans—who cast Nara's Great Buddha—lacked capability to produce soft-bodied sancai ware.

The number of Tang Sancai pieces that came to Japan was vast.
All were items excavated from tombs; since there may be counterfeits, it is best to deal carefully with reputable shops.

[Celadon]

The Song Dynasty of China was the golden age of ceramics.
It ceaselessly produced masterpieces that exquisitely captivated our hearts.
Not only in technique but also in content did they possess an unseen depth inherent to ceramics.

Everyone first speaks of celadon.
Speaking from my personal taste, I prefer Song Dynasty pieces other than celadon—but when confronted with fine celadon, I find it utterly irresistible.
In exchange, however, it comes at a price that remains nearly beyond our reach.

The Chinese favored celadon's color; influenced by this preference, the Japanese of that era came to cherish it too.
Celadon emerges through reduction firing of iron-rich materials—its clay body must contain iron and maintain thickness. That fine examples exist among thick celadon pieces stems from period firing conditions demanding such heft; clumsy handling yields dubious results.
Thus unless one scrutinizes celadon's clay body, masked variants may emerge—Japan-made pieces reverse-imported from China cannot be ruled out.

According to Japanese classification terminology, what we call Kinutade stands as the most prized variety. Its pale blue glaze coats an exceptionally hard clay body that feels more akin to stone than earthen material. These Southern Chinese pieces were fired from the Song through Yuan to Ming dynasties, though most are still attributed primarily to Song craftsmanship—a style of consummate refinement. Their forms and decorative patterns present myriad interpretive challenges.

Tenryūji-de describes celadon bearing a greenish-yellow cast slightly warmer than Kinutade’s hue, generally thought to originate from Ming dynasty production. Shichikan celadon exhibits coarser texture than Tenryūji-de while maintaining translucency—its bluish-gray tones underlaid with cracked-ice patterning across the glazed surface.

When it comes to celadon, Kinutade is undoubtedly supreme; but even Kinutade pieces—whether incense burners or flower vases—have exacting formal requirements that I shall omit here.

Yuan Dynasty Jun ware, with fiery hues emerging over purple-tinged glazes, commands exorbitant prices.
This seems to have existed since the Song Dynasty, but it is known by the name Yuan Jun ware.
This, too, is beautiful and gives a feeling akin to treasured jewels.

[Painted Goryeo]

What is called *Painted Goryeo* in Japan actually refers to pieces from China’s Cizhou kiln—white-glazed wares decorated with iron-pigmented patterns—that are designated as such.
The Painted Goryeo produced during the Song Dynasty boasted excellent forms and expansive patterns—but first and foremost, its white glaze: whether one should use the term “milky white” or not, this rich, creamy white was truly superb.
The patterns emerging from that white clay body were rendered in black and brown, with the black itself exuding an air of noble refinement.
The fluent and unrestrained nature of the patterns—I believe it would not be an exaggeration to say there was no comparison in past or present.

When discussing celadon, I forgot to mention that Song Dynasty bases had particularly excellent forms. This influence could be observed in Japan’s old Seto-style ceramics, yet even when examining just the Song Dynasty bases alone, one felt a certain exhilaration. Here I had discussed Painted Goryeo, but in the Song Dynasty, potters fired various types of ceramics. White, black, persimmon, green. Beyond glazes, they even executed red overglaze enamels. The elegance of Song red overglaze enamels remains widely acknowledged; one might encounter pieces where peony patterns in red and green graced milky white glazes—works that exuded profound richness. Yet even damaged examples commanded exorbitant prices. However, Cizhou-type pieces in the Painted Goryeo style could now be acquired at relatively modest prices, as excavated examples had become more numerous recently.

[Cobalt Blue Decoration and Red Overglaze Enamels]

In Japan, what we call Cobalt Blue Decoration is referred to as qinghua (blue-and-white) in China.
In Japan, they assign various names; Ko-watari, Naka-watari, and Shin-watari likely served as rough classifications based on the eras when these pieces crossed over from China.

In Ming Dynasty China, cobalt blue decoration and red overglaze enamels reached their peak development and left behind excellent works.
The coloration of cobalt (written with the characters 呉須 or 呉洲, referring to blue decoration) in Ming Dynasty pieces possesses an unbearably exquisite quality.
The cobalt had permeated like tattoos upon a beauty's jade-like skin.
The blue hue radiated elegance.
Jingdezhen in China had long been celebrated in Japan as the foremost center of Chinese ceramics; this was during its era of state-controlled production—when it operated as an official kiln.
The literature concerning this Jingdezhen formed the foundation for studying Chinese ceramics.
When the time comes, I intend to contribute its explication to *Tōki Zenshū* (Ceramics Complete Works).

What was referred to in Japan as *old sometsuke* appeared to indicate pieces from the Ming dynasty or those spanning the Ming and Qing periods.
There were those who fretted over flaws like insect marks or fraying on *old sometsuke* rims, but someone like myself had grown so fond of these pieces that their absence left me lonesome—I perceived in them a kind of scenic beauty and depth.
The cobalt designs resembled Ming Dynasty paintings.
Were one to purchase Ming Dynasty paintings, it would have cost a fortune; yet we ceramics enthusiasts could acquire Ming Dynasty cobalt blue decoration at relatively modest prices and found supreme delight in displaying them on our dish stands—this I declared our greatest fortune.
Regarding old sometsuke's virtues, I had written briefly in my humble work Tōshin Haiai.

After China entered the Qing Dynasty, cobalt blue decoration underwent various transformations, straying into mere competitions of intricacy—yet among early Qing works, there are quite fine pieces.

Red overglaze enamels.
There were various types, with pigments including red, blue, yellow, white, black, purple, gold, and many others.
Pieces from Japan’s Old Kutani and Old Imari lineages could be considered imitations of the so-called red overglaze enamels from Ming and Qing China that had undergone Japanization.
Red overglaze enamel pieces also had surprisingly many surviving examples in Japan—or rather than "surprisingly," one might say that items like so-called gosu red overglaze bowls existed solely in Japan and not in China.
Large kabuto bowls, small bowls—all sorts existed.
We could enjoy good Chinese red overglaze enamels that had come to Japan long ago at surprisingly affordable prices.

Joseon

[Celadon]

The technique likely originated during the Goryeo period through either imported Chinese methods or migrant potters from China.
In antiquity, there existed unglazed tile wares called Silla ware; these abruptly gave way to masterpieces of Goryeo celadon that achieved global renown.
Through the early Joseon Dynasty, artisans produced in abundance fine ceramics using robust techniques like Unhak and Mishima inlay, brush-marked decoration, Painted Goryeo styles, among others.
Goryeo celadon—though initially modeled after Chinese prototypes—ultimately revealed a beauty transcending its source through form, hue, and decorative motifs alike.

In Japan, many fine heirloom pieces remain preserved through generations.
Moreover, a great many excavated fragments emerged and stirred the world market.
Above all, the inlay-decorated methods such as Unhakde and Mishimade were techniques that Joseon could proudly boast of.
Even when referring to Mishimade among Japanese tea practitioners, they have given it various evocative names such as *Reihin* or *Hanamishima*.
Brush-marked decoration had its lineage clarified through excavations of kiln sites near Daegu at Gyeryongsan.
As for heirloom pieces—that was one matter—but excavated fragments could now be obtained relatively easily though they once commanded exorbitant prices.

[Joseon Dynasty Ware]

The so-called Joseon Dynasty Ware experienced an extraordinary surge in popularity from the mid-Taisho period through to the present day.
In terms of decorative patterns—cobalt blue decoration，e-Goryeo-style iron-pigmented designs，and cinnabar—it displayed distinctive characteristics.
As for glazes，it exhibited hues ranging from white and black to amber and dusky gray-brown.

From their very form, they embodied the Joseon style, exhibiting distinctive features in both wheel-trimming and rim shaping. They were mostly utilitarian items, with few decorative pieces. From sake jars and oil containers to pickling jars and stationery items like brush holders and water droppers, they crafted all manner of objects. They could be obtained relatively inexpensively and enjoyed. However, even within Joseon Dynasty ware—some pieces having been fired as late as Japan’s Meiji era—the older works proved superior, particularly those from the dynasty’s founding period; their forms reflected the zeitgeist, imbued with a dignified vigor.

Japan

I wish to refrain from discussing Japanese ceramics in the broad manner applied to China and Joseon.
This is because you, esteemed readers, are already so intimately familiar with them within your immediate surroundings.
One need only recognize that they developed under Chinese and Joseon influence, were Japanized, and therein discovered their vitality.

Even with celadon, whether Nabeshima in Kyushu or Sanda in Settsu incorporated Chinese techniques quite adeptly; these were matters I wished to include in *Tōki Zenshū* (Ceramics Complete Works).
I did not discuss white porcelain, but Chinese and Korean white porcelain were greatly cherished by the Japanese and came to be produced as Japanese wares.

The Ido, Kumagawa, Mishima, Soba, Irabo, Hakeme, and various tea bowls cherished by tea masters were Korean products spanning from Goryeo to early Joseon; however, Japan too—ever since Lord Toyotomi’s “ceramics war”—imitated these Korean-produced items in Kyushu and elsewhere, ultimately transforming them into Japanese wares.
Thus even cobalt blue decoration and red overglaze enamels saw Japanese ceramics branch into Chinese-derived and Korean-derived traditions—their appeal lay precisely in how they were Japanized. To clarify these matters as accurately as possible constituted part of my *Ceramics Complete Works*’ purpose.

As for Japanese ceramics, I must beg your indulgence to set them aside here.

I have discussed Joseon and China above merely as a brief digression due to their significant influence on Japanese ceramics. By rights, I ought to have expounded at length on Persian ceramics—Persian ceramics that bridged East and West, carrying something that strikes most profoundly at the Japanese heart. One would naturally expect discussion of Egyptian, Greek, and other ceramics from Italy, France, the Netherlands, Germany, and various countries besides—but I am not suited to that task.