An Ordinary Child

Hanada: Did you enjoy making things from a young age?

Chietsu Mizugaki: I liked crafts, but it’s not as if I was especially good at them or anything… I was just an ordinary child. My mother practiced calligraphy, so from the time I was in kindergarten I was made to hold a brush quite rigorously. Our house was always filled with the scent of ink.

Hanada: I’ve heard your mother placed great importance on food.

Chietsu Mizugaki: She prepared almost everything herself. As for tableware, it was all porcelain—I ended up disliking porcelain because of that.

Hanada: So there wasn’t any earthenware.

Chietsu Mizugaki: After my mother started going to the pottery fair in Mashiko and places like that, little by little…

Hanada: Did she take you to Mashiko as well?

Chietsu Mizugaki: I went with her, but in junior high and high school I had no interest in ceramics, so… (laughs).

Sawing Jōmon Pottery

Hanada: What did you do after graduating from high school?

Chietsu Mizugaki: I studied agriculture at a university in Miyazaki.

Hanada: I imagine agriculture covers a wide range of fields.

Chietsu Mizugaki: At first I was studying environmental science, but by chance I visited a laboratory researching agricultural ruins, and a senior student was sawing a piece of Jōmon pottery in half to examine its components.
It looked incredibly compelling… So I asked, “Is it really okay to cut pottery?” and he said, “Yes, it’s fine.”

Hanada: Did you start cutting pottery as well?

Chietsu Mizugaki: The investigation ended just before my year, so instead I worked on an excavation related to highway construction near the Kagoshima prefectural border. We collected soil from strata dating back about ten thousand years and analyzed it using a centrifuge.

Hanada: That must have been interesting in its own way.

Chietsu Mizugaki: It was. You don’t expect to find pink soil beneath the ground, do you? And when you analyze it, you can tell things like whether pampas grass once grew there.

Hanada: Pink soil?

Chietsu Mizugaki: Looking back, I think it was probably similar to the moxa clay found in Gifu.

Hanada: That’s quite a step closer to ceramics. You must have had many discoveries and surprises.

Chietsu Mizugaki: On a grand scale… I mean, it would have been exciting if we’d unearthed human bones. But our biggest discovery was, “Look! These are traces of roasted chestnuts!” Rather understated (laughs).

Hanada: You found traces of roasted chestnuts?

Chietsu Mizugaki: From the Jōmon period.

Hanada: So people were roasting and eating chestnuts in the Jōmon period.

Chietsu Mizugaki: That was our greatest discovery. No gold or silver treasures whatsoever (laughs).

Hanada: That would be asking too much (laughs).

After Seeing a Jar…

Hanada: What prompted you to want to make ceramics yourself?

Chietsu Mizugaki: I shouldn’t go into too much detail out of respect for the owner, but when I saw a certain jar someone owned, I thought, “I want to make something better.”
Rather cheeky, considering I’d never made anything myself (laughs).

Hanada: So it was a jar that made you feel that way.

Chietsu Mizugaki: It was a jar with not a single redeeming quality.
It felt flimsy, and it only reinforced my feeling: “This is why I dislike porcelain.”

Hanada: Porcelain was clearly the villain in your mind (laughs). Did you begin studying ceramics after that?

Chietsu Mizugaki: No, not yet (laughs). I didn’t know anyone involved in ceramics, and my mother was strongly opposed.

Hanada: She was firmly against it?

Chietsu Mizugaki: Becoming a potter out of nowhere… She hadn’t even fully accepted my studying agriculture at a university in Miyazaki.

Hanada: I see.

Chietsu Mizugaki: She seemed to believe that “a woman should simply enroll in a literature department or something like that…”

Hanada: What about your father?

Chietsu Mizugaki: He opposed it too, but more in a “Well, that’s just like you, so I suppose it can’t be helped” kind of way (laughs).

Encounter with a Joseon White Porcelain Jar

Hanada: You also love music. What were you into?

Chietsu Mizugaki: It connects to my first job after graduation, but I was completely immersed in punk. Rancid, The Clash, the Sex Pistols…
Around the time I graduated, I thought, “Next, I’ll devote myself to music,” and just then a record shop in Jinbōchō was hiring trainee staff, so I joined.
But the shop specialized in enka, idol music, and classical… There was a rock section, but it had its own specialist, so I couldn’t go near it.
As I kept polishing records by artists like Saori Yuki, Morishige Hisaya, and Hibari Misora, I started to grow disillusioned… (laughs).

Hanada: Things didn’t go as planned.

Chietsu Mizugaki: At that time, during a lunch break, I happened to walk into a café called Rihaku (now closed).

Hanada: Quite an encounter.

Chietsu Mizugaki: There, I was struck hard by a Joseon white porcelain jar…
And Rihaku was hiring as well. Before I knew it, I was saying, “Please hire me, for now.”

Hanada: So for you, a poor jar opened the path to ceramics, and a great jar pushed you down that path (laughs).

Chietsu Mizugaki: Then it turned out that the president of the record shop where I had worked was a regular at Rihaku… I’d left saying something dramatic like “I’m pursuing my dream,” and there he was, right in front of me…

Hanada: Extremely awkward.

Chietsu Mizugaki: Very awkward (laughs).

A Year with the Master

Hanada: Did you speak with the master often?

Chietsu Mizugaki: He taught me about Joseon ceramics from the very beginning. There were also many books there.

Hanada: Wasn’t Rihaku busy?

Chietsu Mizugaki: Depending on the weather, there were times when no customers came at all. The master, Shigeyuki Miyahara, was a very single-minded person. If someone came just to chat without any interest in Joseon ceramics, he would send them away.
He deeply valued customers who came quietly to look at Joseon ware, so I think he took the atmosphere of the shop very seriously.

Hanada: Listening to explanations while surrounded by Joseon ceramics… it sounds ideal.

Chietsu Mizugaki: He would say, “When people think of Joseon ware, they tend to favor pieces that are warped or distorted, but that’s not what they truly are. They are much more beautiful.”
He also said, “People praise a crooked sake flask as ‘wonderful,’ but that’s not the point.” All the books here were given to me by Rihaku.

Hanada: I see—that explains the books in Hangul. I had wondered where you found them. You must have been able to see more than just white porcelain jars.

Chietsu Mizugaki: There was woodwork, metalwork… a full range. There were paintings as well.
And museum professionals and antique dealers came in as customers, so I often overheard their conversations with the master…

Hanada: That must have been valuable. You listened from the side?

Chietsu Mizugaki: When they mentioned, for example, a fine piece held in a certain collection, I would stop by a secondhand bookstore nearby on my way home and look for exhibition catalogues to see what it was like…

Hanada: A time of intense absorption, then. Could you name some favorite Joseon pieces?

Chietsu Mizugaki: The white porcelain jar and the meiping I saw at Rihaku, and a Mishima tea bowl at the Mingeikan that is worn and slightly misshapen from being over-pressed, yet still possesses dignity—those three.

Hanada: After encountering Joseon ware at Rihaku, your desire to pursue ceramics only deepened.

Chietsu Mizugaki: I felt I had finally understood what that earlier jar had been lacking.

Hanada: How long were you at Rihaku?

Chietsu Mizugaki: One year. One day the master told me, “You can’t stay here forever. If you’re going to pursue ceramics, you must properly step into that world.”
After that, I attended a school in Kyoto for two years, then worked part-time in factories and offices in Kyoto and Hachioji while making pottery. Eventually I moved to Oita, where I am now.

Teachers in Ceramics

Hanada: Did you learn techniques at school?

Chietsu Mizugaki: The basics at school, and the technical aspects of Joseon ware from books by Akira Yoshida, as well as exhibition catalogues and publications on mingei.
Books are treasures to me.

Hanada: Could you show us those books now?

Chietsu Mizugaki: I’m sorry—I don’t have them with me right now. They’ve wandered off somewhere.

Hanada: That doesn’t sound very careful (laughs).

Chietsu Mizugaki: They’re carefully put away somewhere. I just no longer know where that somewhere is!

Hanada: In any case, you read them again and again.

Chietsu Mizugaki: Until they fell apart…
At that time, no one would teach you how to mix glazes, and such information wasn’t made public.
But Akira Yoshida openly published it all—he even showed exactly what Mishima stamps looked like. They were invaluable to me.

Hanada: There are many fascinating titles here. “Mishima and Hakeme” by Yamada Mankichiro also stands out.

Chietsu Mizugaki: From these books, I learned “affection” for objects. Reading books filled with genuine love is enjoyable.
This one, too, dates from the wartime period, and it carefully records items unearthed from old kiln sites with hand-drawn illustrations.

Chietsu Mizugaki: This is “Korean Ceramics,” highly praised by the master at Rihaau.　The first edition was published near the end of the war; this is a later reprint… it’s excellent.

Hanada: “Korean Ceramics” by Takushin Kushi.

Chietsu Mizugaki: A pure spirit… perhaps. This, too, was published during the war.
When you read books from that time, you notice that the prefaces often say things like “Japan is great” or “Korea is lazy.”　But this author is different.
At first it’s not so apparent, but toward the end he praises Korean art wholeheartedly. He writes about how extraordinary Korean art was, how it was transmitted to Japan and influenced it…
I think it required resolve to write that during wartime. He evaluates Korean works after fully acknowledging the value of various artistic traditions.

Hanada: That’s very different from writing today. He expressed his affection for Joseon ware under wartime conditions. That must have given you strength.

Chietsu Mizugaki: Sometimes I didn’t immediately grasp what the master at Rihaku meant, but when I read this book, it suddenly became clear.

Gratitude

Hanada: Is there anything you’ve made that remains particularly memorable?

Chietsu Mizugaki: When I first saw something I had made, I thought, “What am I going to do? I’ve made something amazing. It’s going to sell too well” (laughs).

Hanada: That’s impressive. What was it?

Chietsu Mizugaki: A small Mishima plate. But it didn’t sell at all. It was at a handmade market in Kyoto. Seeing a nearby glass artist with excellent work also struggling to sell made me oddly relieved… It made me realize that what I consider the best isn’t necessarily what others think is best.

Hanada: Do you still have that plate?

Chietsu Mizugaki: This one. It’s been fifteen years.

Hanada: It was this beautiful even fifteen years ago.

Chietsu Mizugaki: It didn’t sell.

Hanada: Why didn’t it sell, I wonder. Does it bring back memories?

Chietsu Mizugaki: Mostly bitter ones (laughs). Now I’m simply grateful to have work. I have to do it properly (laughs).

Hanada: Any particularly happy memories?

Chietsu Mizugaki: I was happy when a small elementary-school child chose one of my bud vases.

Hanada: Why does it make you happy when a child chooses your work?

Chietsu Mizugaki: Because I couldn’t choose things for myself when I was little (laughs). And children don’t choose based on theory or knowledge.
They don’t make extravagant purchases—they have to persuade their mother to spend the money if they truly want it. They overcome that hurdle to take it home.

Hanada: I hope they remember it when they grow up. And perhaps one day return to your solo exhibition.

Chietsu Mizugaki: By then I’ll be an old woman (laughs).

Throwing on the Wheel to Rock ’n’ Roll

Hanada: What do you want to make now?

Chietsu Mizugaki: I aim toward the Joseon pieces I love, while continuing to make works that belong on the dining table. For now, I try not to make anything strange. And I don’t forget to make what I myself would want.

Hanada: So you create what you need yourself.

Chietsu Mizugaki: Yes. I wouldn’t want to make things I don’t need and end up with a house full of unsold stock.

Hanada: (laughs)

Chietsu Mizugaki: In one way or another, I do believe in the power of tableware… Even if a couple is arguing, if you’re using your favorite pieces, you’re unlikely to throw them. They enrich everyday life and perhaps even act as a kind of restraint.

Hanada: That’s unusually serious (laughs). I also like your blue-and-white work. The clay body is strong, and so is the brushwork.

Chietsu Mizugaki: The motifs are based on old examples—Imari, Joseon, Shonzui… I’m drawn to designs that have been shared across Asia.

Hanada: Shonzui as well?

Chietsu Mizugaki: I borrow small elements from Shonzui.

Hanada: Just portions, then. Your blue-and-white work carries your own atmosphere.

Chietsu Mizugaki: When you look at antiques, even with the same motif, the feeling changes depending on the artisan who painted it. That irregularity is part of the appeal, I think.
I’ve simply joined at the end of that lineage, continuing to paint traditional designs— while living in the present.

Hanada: That makes sense.

Chietsu Mizugaki: When someone at Seto’s Shindo Studio said, “If Edo-period artisans were alive today, they’d all be using electric wheels,” it eased my mind a little.
I sometimes worried about the gap between aiming for the past and living a different life now. But I grew up watching Kinnikuman(a famouse anime), after all. So I’ve accepted it—throwing on the wheel while listening to rock ’n’ roll.

Toward the Exhibition

Hanada: Finally, a word about your upcoming exhibition with Etsuji Noguchi.

Chietsu Mizugaki: I like Noguchi’s Nanban work. I’ve never met him in person, but I once saw him somewhere, and he left a strong impression—“Ah, that must be Mr. Noguchi.”
It’s a great honor. Please convey my regards.

Hanada: Certainly. We look forward to the exhibition!

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