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my opinion, achieved this more than any other, and that is Shoji Hamada!
I have watched his growth at close and long range over thirty years. He made his reputation first as an artist craftsman in England by exhibitions
in Bond Street. Then he returned to Japan and buried himself in the small town of Mashiko, which for a couple of hundred years had supplied Tokyo with its kitchen crocks. There, in the fifty or more kilns, a simple stoneware was made of local materials by farmers who were part- time potters. Hamada, having re'fused a variety of positions on his return from Europe, preferred to hire himself out as a thrower in this background of honest hand craft, partly to gain the acceptance of himself as a
human being and good workman, but also to rid himself of pretence and self. He used to call it "getting rid of his tail•" He used, and still uses, the quite ordinary local clays, ashes, and pulverized rocks, but with the unobtrusive discretion and insight of an artist-an artist keeping his greater consciousness in its right unobtrusive place. He abandoned the practice of signing or sealing pots, saying, if questioned, that if the pot itself did not answer the query, it was either because it was not good enough or because the questioner was blind. He was concerned with the good pot, leaving personality to take care of itself. One day
in 1934, I went up to Tokyo from his little town to do some shopping, and whilst wandering around I saw on the other side of the street an ex- hibition of pots which looked like Hamada•s. I was surprised that he had not mentioned the matter before I set out. I crossed and stood in front of the window, puzzled, for the skill and resemblance was extraordinary.
On entering, I was given the name of the maker. When I got back for
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supper, I asked Hamada about this man. Hamada replied that he lived next door and was the bright lad of the village. Rather indignantly
I protested that such imitation was too much of a good thing, to which Hamada answered, "What does it matter? In a hundred years, his best pots will go by my name and my worst pots by his."
At the end of this account, Leach tells us that this was not the end of the story of Hamada and his talented and opportunistic young
imitator, but he does not tell us the rest of the story. One can only surmise that the unreported second part of the story did not reinforce the tone and message of the first part. I suspect that Hamada found a way of pulling the rug out from under his clever competitor. Very few men who have become as successful in a worldly way as Hamada have done so without the aid of a streak of wile. It is very hard to believe that Hamada did not give the lad next door his come-uppance.
I find Hamada0s comments on signing pots fascinating because of their ambivalent content. On one level, they convey the kind of quiet refusal to stress the self which Leach feels is so important to good art;
and, on the other hand, they convey an intense sense of the importance of his name. When questioned about not signing his pots, he does~
say, as one might expect, that it is the pot that is important, not the maker. He says that if his pots do not clearly say who made them, without a signature, then either the pots are not good enough or the reviewer is not perceptive enough. In other words, the entire pot is his signature and any knowledgeable person will recognize, not simply that it is a good pot, but that it is a Hamada pot. And in replying to
Leach on the lad next door, he does not say that in a hundred years there will only be good pots and bad pots. No, he says that the good pots will be known as Hamada pots, and the bad pots will be attributed to his imi- tator. Not only will his name live on but his reputation will become brighter with the years.
Also, one should not overlook the practical advantage to Hamada of not signing his pots. His practice makes it possible for all the good pots that come out of his kilns to be sold at Hamada prices whether he personally has had a hand in making them or not. I do not suggest that this was his motive in the first place or even now.only that this advan•
tage must make his decision~ to sign his pots easier to stay with.
The glory and wonder of art is that it is made by imperfect creatures like ourselves. If we turn artists into saints, we cease to wonder at their art and only wonder at the artists themselves. The artists rather than art become the miracle. Hamada might be tempted by such a fate, but I do not think he would choose it in the end.
certainly he did not choose it in the beginning.
Regardless of Hamada1s ambivalence la the matter of being a "name"
potter, he stands squarely in the tradition of folk pottery in other respects. He believes that only pottery that is useful has what he calls
"healthy beauty." He feels that pottery made only for display ls deca- dent. The matter of self-consciousness versus unselfconsciousness plays a large role in his insistence on the esthetic superiority of functional pottery. A pot that is made only to be looked at is in its very nature a self-conscious pot. It has nothing to do, as it were, but sit or stand
there and ask people to look at it. And the people who look at it, having no relationship with it except the obligation to respond to it as anesthetic object, are self-conscious, too. +he esthetlc qualities of a useful pot, on the other hand, may be enjoyed~!:!!!_ side, so to speak, in the course of a familiar and practical relationship. This relaxed, on-the-side nature of the esthetic enjoyment of a useful object rules out excessive self-consciousness and makes possible what Hamada calls the experience of "healthy beauty."
A similar process of relaxation occurs inthe production of useful pottery. The fact that the pot ls being made for!!!!_ takes some of the pressure off the potter as an artist. As a craftsman, he must necessar•
ily do a great deal of repetitive work@ilitand repetition and self•conscious- ness cannot live together for long. Hamada places great emphasis on what he calls "body knowledge.," The knowledge that comes from doing- preferably doing the same thing many times. As self•consciousness declines the rhythms of the body take over and make their very special
contribution to form and style. Leach, quoted earlier in connection with old Minagawa, the pottery painter, makes essentially the same point.
In his introduction to the book Shoji Hamada, Soetsu Yanaga says:
"Hamada himself has stated that it took him ten years to learn tech•
nique and twenty years to forget it.01 And Arthur Park quotes him as saying "technical things are important but you must go beyond this into
1. Shoji Hamada, edited by Soetsu Yanagi, 1961, Asahi Shimbllll. Pub. Co., Tokyo.
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nature. Then you have peace with yourself.111 James Noah tells us that Hamada makes this same point in the following way: A plant bears a blossom which later brings forth fruit; the fruit falls from the plant and later its seed creates a new plant. The potter does not really create until he has gone through a cycle similar to that of the plant.2 Cne recognizes here an ancient bit of wisdom, found in the West as well as the East. "He that loseth his life shall find it." We must first shed much fine raiment before we can breatheand move truly according to our natures.
We must also learn to give the natural forces around us freedom to act according to their natures, and to respect and acknowledge the con- tribution these forces make to our work. One of Hamada•s frequently
is
voiced objections to signing pots/that a pot is in large degree the kiln's work, over which the potter has little control. If a potter gains complete control over a kiln, it is time for him to change kilns.
"Hamada has more natural ability than others and yet it is precisely this that he wishes to put aside. By doing so, he enters a world where he will not be trapped by ability and wisdom. Of late, he has concen•
trated on salt glaze because he can control it less. The reasonthat Hamada built a large kiln was that he had gained control of his small one; it was at his mercy, so to speak, whereas he was at the mercy of the large one. Thus, he was seeking escape from the confinement of his ego."3
l. Shoji Hamada, School Arts, June 1965.
2. A Workshop with Hamada, James Noah, October 1963.
3. 'tea Bowls by Koyetsu and Hamada, Soetsu Yanagi, Pottery Quarterly, Vol. 8, No. 31, 1964.
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These words were written by Hamada•s close friend, Soetsu Yanagi. No
doubt they sound strange to Western ears, and no doubt they do not tell the
,_
whole truth. One question; for example, whether Hamada built a large kiln
t
only because he had attained mastery over the small one. But it would prob~bly be a mistake to wholly reject the interpretation of a life- long friend. The capacity for having more than one honest reason-on quite different levels--for doing something is not limited to occiden- tals.
Hamada believes that pottery should be born out of the culture of the country where it is made. "Korean life is free, so their pots are free." 1 "The kind of life we lead each day is reflected in every piece of pottery we make.02 Hamada explained to Daizo Kusayanagi that he did not choose to live in Mashiko because of the Mashiko-ware itself, but because of the intimate connection between the Mashiko people and Mashiko pottery. "The people are faithful to the potteries and the potteries to the people!" He was moved by the traditional technique and felt the depth of it.3
Of primary concern to Hamada is the way of life. It would seem that he believes that his essential task-his real work, so to speak, is to choose the right way of life and to keep choosing it every day.
If he does this work well, the work of making pottery will come easily;
it will be a natural by-product. He once told Yanagi that making pottery
1. Shoji Hamada, Arthur Park, School Arts, June 1965.
2. Hamada, Y. Uchida, Craft Horizons, July 1956.
3. A Maker Who Drinks the Underground Water, Daizo Kusayanagi, The Sun, March 1967 (Japan).
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should not be like climbing a mountain. It should be "more like walking down a hill in a pleasant breeze." 1
1. Tea Bowls by Koyetsu and Hamada, Soetsu Yanagi, Pottery Quarterly, Vol. 8, No. 31, 1964.