50+ Years of an Ugly Cup

As you may remember, I'm staying with my parents until I get my feet back under me and can get into my own space, again. The house happens to be the one in which I grew up, and as a result, it has a sort of time capsule feel to me. 

Some things have changed, like the paint in the living room and the new counter tops and electric range in the kitchen. Other things haven't, like the two 1950's (possibly 1960's) hanging lamps and the funky bar in the den area by the patio door.The other unchanging thing has been my mom's Ugly Cup.

Mom's Ugly Cup has been around ever since I can remember. When we had our first dog, she would let him lick the last few drops of her coffee out of it before it got washed and hung on its hook with all the other cups in the kitchen. It was her morning ritual, go-to cup.

I'm sure you have one, too.

The glaze color isn't particularly flashy or attention-grabbing. I never really liked it as a kid, though I'll admit it's grown on me over the years. The application of the glaze, itself, seems like it was a little thick and uneven. There are even marks left from where air bubbles in the glaze popped, but the glaze didn't flow enough to cover them. Perhaps it was a little underfired? I'm not sure.

Over the last fifty-plus years of use, it's gotten some crackling in it, especially on the one-fingered handle.

The clay, itself, is relatively groggy. It's not a particularly pretty color. The maker, a Japanese student who lived in my mom and dad's apartment building in Pomona, California when they were first married, didn't sand the foot, so it's still rough. She didn't sign it or put her mark on it, either, although my dad still remembers her name. 

I'll have to ask him again one day and see if she turns up in a search.

If you flip it over, you can see the foot isn't perfectly centered, that it's a little off. The foot ring has a ding in it, possibly from being set on a rack while it was still leather hard.

The form is loose and unfussy, the rim mostly round in spite of the informal squaring off of the walls. The cup itself is only large enough to hold a small amount of coffee.

I don't know what it is about this cup which has held my interest for all these years. Maybe it's the obvious hand-made-ness it has as it hangs next to its commercially made Momcat brethren. Perhaps it's the air bubbles in the glaze which made me think of moon craters when I was a kid. (Still does, really.) Maybe it's the modesty of the glaze color, itself, plain and unassuming amid the bright colors of the other mugs hanging nearby.

When I was younger, I used to think that everything which wasn't manufactured, was inferior, somehow. That if it wasn't uniform, wasn't "perfect," it was somehow defective.

Thus, Mom's Ugly Cup.

Now I know better. I embrace the handmade. The quirks. The unevenness. Evidence of the maker's hand on the clay or the glaze. Things which make a humble coffee cup unique.

The other thing I do know, is it makes me miss my studio. I want to get back on the wheel and play around with this form, to deconstruct it so I can better understand its appeal.

The Ugly Cup. Who knew it could produce such longing?

Kintsukuroi

I think this is one of the most perfect Japanese concepts I've ever seen in action.

I think this philosophy also applies to people, in a way. I take it to mean that the bumps in the road from which we've suffered and recovered can give us more depth and compassion, making us more beautiful.

Click on the pic for a short video on the process.

Brushing and Pouring

Image via Artnet Galleries.

First off, I'm going to apologize for the way this post may be written. I've had a stressful day, and my husband took one look at the wild look in my eye and the shortness of breath and gave me half a Xanax to take the edge.

I feel better, but my thought processes may be a bit on the "stream of conciousness" side, rather than more organized. Whatever. I don't feel like screaming, anymore, and that's what's important, right? ;)

So, onward!

Image via the Pucker Gallery.

I'm in the process of glazing some pieces. There are a bunch of ways to glaze, a bunch of different temperatures to fire the glazes, some of which involve holding certain temperatures for specific period of time. There are bunch of different effects you can get in oxidation or reduction firings. (Oxidation is introducing oxygen in the firing chamber-or it is already there, as in the electric kiln's environment-reduction is reducing the oxygen in the firing chamber.  Oversimplification, but there you have it.) You can brush glaze onto bisque ware, dip it, pour it, trail it. All sorts of techniques are used to different effect.

Brushing and trailing are two techniques that, when executed properly, really make a piece stand out. One of the masters of these techniques was Shoji Hamada. 

Image via the Asian Art website.

What 's really amazing to me as a potter and a student, is how simple his pieces are and how deceptively easy his technique looked. When you see video of Hamada working, you notice that none of his pieces are without a little wobble in them while he's making them. As he works, his hands show a seemingly effortless economy of movement. He doesn't sweat or strain. It's obvious to those with a discerning eye that this is a man who has thrown many bowls, plates, bottles and cups, and he knows what he's doing.

His glazing technique is no different. Effortless, almost careless. A subtle turn of the wrist that looks unimportant and easy. A flow that is closer to dance than to glazing a plate. It becomes quickly obvious to others in the craft that this man is a master, even if they've never heard of him before.

You think, "Wow. That looks easy!" Yeah, right. Try it, sometime, and see what kind of monstrosity you come up with. It is SO. Not. Easy. The trailing/pouring technique, alone, has me in knots, though I suppose that after forty or fifty years, I'll have it down!

Now, it's obvious to clay artisans that firing in a wood-burning kiln had a certain amount of influence on his results, and that's absolutely so! Wood ash does some pretty cool things to pottery. (Of course, a smaller version is on my list of things to have after my big Lotto win!)

If I'm not mistaken, Hamada's kiln (pictured above) had five chambers.
Image via Jack is Not Dull photo blog.

Sadly, the 2011 earthquake destroyed or severely damaged many of the kilns in Mashiko, where Hamada had his kiln. To add a short side-rant, the Japanese government decided to take a tidy chunk of relief money and spend it on their whaling-oh, excuse me, "research"- operations in the Southern Ocean, rather than using it for the victims and businesses suffering from the destruction. (Gotta love government!) Hopefully, some of the potteries in Mashiko have been able to get back on their feet and get the fires going again.

For a video on Hamada and long-time peer, friend and master potter, Bernard Leach, including footage of Hamada working in his studio, click here.