Today is a continuation of our previous interview with Yoshinobu Morimoto.
Following on from last time, we will talk about the virtues of Japan and his own pottery.
Morimoto: "The virtues of Japan? After Sen no Rikyu appeared, works became things that could be used, but also possessed a philosophy. Distorted forms emerged, like those of Chojiro, Oribe, or Shino. Rhythm and space are embedded within the works."
Me: "Rhythm, you say? I see."
Morimoto: "In that sense, I believe the 'deepening' process is what makes Japan special."
Me: "You mean digging deep into a single thing."
Morimoto: "That's right. It can feel a bit meticulous, though (laughs)."
Me: "That's completely different from the West. Let's move on to another question. First, what are your preferences regarding clay? Do you prefer a certain type...?"
Morimoto: "Hmm, actually, I don't think there's any such thing as 'good' or 'bad' clay. I just use regular clay (laughs)."
Me: "Is that so? That's surprising—I was a bit taken aback (laughs)."
Morimoto: "Is it? (laughs) My basic principle is that I want to 'turn plain clay into a work of art,' and I enjoy the breadth of that transformation. Just because you use good clay doesn't mean you'll make a good piece."
Me: "So you don't have any prejudice against the clay itself."
Morimoto: "Clay is like people; everyone is different. I think the best approach is to grasp each one's quirks and use them to your advantage in the shaping and firing."
Me: "So the clay, the firing, and the shaping all enhance each other."
Morimoto: "Exactly. The shaping is truly infinite (laughs). Once you master the 'three-point expansion' theory of Master Abe, a rhythm is born in the work. It's like composing music by expanding triangles. It leads to infinite combinations."
Me: "Wow, that's complicated. Please tell me more about that 'three-point expansion' some other time. I'm very intrigued by that concept. What about the firing process?"
Morimoto: "I will. And as for firing, I consider it the most important part. If it hasn't been fired, it isn't pottery, after all."
Me: "Yes, firing is crucial."
Morimoto: "I think of the clay as the canvas and the fire as the paint. So, I divide the stages into preparing the base, adding color, and finishing, and then fire them separately."
Me: "So you put it through several firings, taking many steps."
Morimoto: "Right. First, in the base-making stage, you have to keep in mind where the 'goma' (ash glaze) or red 'nuke' (colorless patches) will be. If you don't think about it, you're just firing aimlessly. You have to work out the composition beforehand."
Me: "Composition—that's a hallmark of your work, Morimoto-san."
Morimoto: "Once the base is fired, I introduce smoke... well, this is where it becomes a trade secret (laughs)."
Me: "Is that so? That's a pity (laughs). I'm so curious now. Please, tell me."
Morimoto: "That's not possible (laughs). The result is a skin like melted chocolate with strong yellow goma and red nuke. I'm aiming for a matière like an oil painting."
Me: "That's a fascinating story. By the way, when did you first get interested in pottery?"
Morimoto: "Since my family were craftsmen, I started working part-time at the kiln for extra pocket money when I was in junior high."
Me: "The classic side hustle for the child of a potter (laughs)."
Morimoto: "Exactly (laughs). So, it wasn't like I started because I was interested. After graduating high school, I just went to a pottery center without thinking much about it (laughs)."
Me: "I was almost sent to one too (laughs). I didn't go in the end, but what was it like?"
Morimoto: "There was an entrance exam. Since I wasn't really interested at the time, for the question where you had to match prefectures to types of pottery, I just wrote 'Arita-yaki' for everything except Okayama (laughs)."
Me: "That's reckless (laughs). So you knew about Arita-yaki at least."
Morimoto: "I guess I knew that much (laughs). Even after I got in, I kept messing around like that. I was 18 then, and there were all sorts of people there—it felt like a night school."
Me: "I see. Is it a one-year program?"
Morimoto: "Yes. After I graduated, I made a living as a freelance kiln stoker. Firing a climbing kiln is a three-shift job, you see. Usually, beginners do the day shift and skilled people take the night shift, but they put me on the night shift right away (laughs). It was like, 'Wow, you're good.' That was actually the first time in my life I was praised—I thought, 'Oh, I guess I'm good at this' (laughs)."
Me: "And that gave you the motivation you needed (laughs)."
Morimoto: "Yes, it really went to my head (laughs). So I started participating in various kiln firings."
Me: "A wandering kiln-stoker (laughs)."
Morimoto: "Yeah, the cigarettes taste good while you're firing a kiln, and the food does too. When it’s time to add the final coals, everyone gathers around, and it's like a school field trip—everyone gets excited (laughs). It's like a pillow-fight atmosphere (laughs)."
Me: "Like the lively vibe around a campfire."
Morimoto: "Exactly. The drinking and eating afterward are really fun, too. But eventually, I started feeling dissatisfied with the status quo. That was when I met Master Abe, who was holding a solo exhibition at a department store in Kobe. He said, 'Oh, you came all the way from Okayama? Let's head back together,' and that's how I started visiting his studio."
Me: "I see. So you finally met Master Abe."
That's all for today.
By the way, the photos this time show the inhabitants of Yoshinobu Morimoto's studio.
The stereo, which is an essential item for the artist, art magazines, photo books, and a rusty guitar.
And the ashtray and teacup he uses all the time.
Every corner of a workshop like this is different, depending on the artist.
Perhaps you can sense the presence of "something" there that has a profound influence on their work.
Because often, the very act of living is reflected in the work.