Steve Jobs said he “sensed a complete understanding of Zen” in the work of a Tateyama artist. That artist is potter Yukio Shakunaga.
You can find a gallery of Mr. Shakunaga’s works at Shorakukama. When we asked if he had any that include Tateyama motifs, he showed us many such works. One of them is a gorgeous, turquoise-glazed, flat plate in the shape of a mountain. The view from Midagahara, a Tateyama highland located 2,000 meters above sea level that he once visited with his grandfather, was his inspiration. Said grandfather was Shojiro Shakunaga, a man who was instrumental in reviving the craft of Etchu Setoyaki ceramics.
“There is a marsh called Gakinota in Midagahara where spring water flows year-round. There’s a hotel nearby; when I was in elementary school I stayed there with my grandfather. From the promenade next to the hotel I saw countless ponds. Whenever I’d go to Gakinota in the morning or evening, I could see the mountains and sky reflected on the water. I wanted to express that landscape.”
The series includes other works; some are glazed in blue, while others are closer to green. Apparently, quickly cooling the glaze inside the kiln results in a clear green color, while cooling slowly creates a vivid blue. Wood ash enamel is the most basic compliment to this glaze, making it intimately connected to the mountains of Tateyama.
Mr. Shakunaga showed us another one of his works: a pure white triangular piece, with curved edges to represent the mountain’s ridgeline.
“Mountains may be brimming with beauty and charm, but they’re still nature; people die there every year. I kept that intensity in mind while making this piece.”
This is the pottery of Mr. Shakunaga – a master who touched the heart of Steve Jobs. The Tateyama mountain range forms the majestic backdrop for his creativity.
Yukio Shakunaga calmly told us about himself, this land, and its features. He vividly recalls every detail, his mind reliving the landscapes and sensations.
Yellow ochre, blue, and reddish-brown clay can be collected from the foot of mountains, but Mr. Shakunaga uses the white clay found in Tateyama for his Etchu Setoyaki works. White clay is gathered from a stratum found in a slim region that stretches like a belt within the mountains. White clay is extremely valuable; it isn’t an endless reserve, and you can’t gather too much at once.
“I first learned about white clay as a child while accompanying my grandfather to Tsuchibori. The snow melts at the beginning of spring, creating channels from the meltwater. Back then channels weren’t surfaced with concrete, so you could see the raw clay. I saw how the snowmelt exposed the clay, and we searched hard for a white clay layer.
“I wasn’t interested in pottery, I was just tagging along with my grandfather. I’d take the dog on a walk and go play at Grandpa’s studio because I didn’t have anyone in the neighborhood to play with.
“He also ran a roof tile factory. It was full of large machinery, which was fascinating, but very dangerous for a child. That pushed him to let me play in the much safer pottery studio, I suppose. That’s why whenever I think of pottery or kilns, I also think of my grandfather.”
Whenever he went to play, Mr. Shakunaga would end up helping his grandfather with work.
“For example, I’d pick up potsherds. You could find them all over the rice fields back then. I’d show them to my grandfather and he knew the temperature they were baked in, or the color of the clay that was used. He was happy to use them as a reference for his work. He was so happy whenever I collected potsherds, he’d sometimes reward me with chocolate or candy. I hoped to earn an allowance but I ended up going on potsherd hunts instead.
“I’d also look for clay back then. In my grandfather’s day, you would melt a bit of any new clay on your tongue. Depending on how fast it melts, you can tell the stickiness, the fineness of the grain; if it tasted funny you could tell if it had organic matter or foreign agents, and even predict how fireproof it was. That’s how we selected the clay he used.”
Mr. Shakunaga’s interest in ceramics gradually increased as he grew up. He tells us of how his enthusiasm began when his art teacher praised his handicraft, and how he started wanting to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps in his upper elementary school years.
As a junior high schooler, he was sent to Ishikawa Prefecture during summer vacations with a craftsman who came to work with his grandfather, and there he learned to work the potter’s wheel. Was there a reason why he didn’t choose Etchu Setoyaki ceramics?
“I wanted to see the outside world, like every kid does. I was treated like an adult, they took me wherever I thought was interesting. At first, it was the technical pieces that caught my eye. Seeing the shape of the clay freely changing shape under my fingertips was like magic; I was endlessly intrigued.”
His interest took him further still. During high school, he became fascinated by Korean ceramics.
“I was shown Chinese and Korean pottery at an antique shop in Toyama. I gradually became friends with the manager, and he recommended I learn tea ceremony. Back then the tea rooms often used Korean cups. Tourists also went to South Korea to see antique ceramics, and through the tea ceremony I quickly started using porcelain from Korean artists.”
In his mid-20s, Mr. Shakunaga saw the “5,000 Years of Korean Arts” exhibit at the Kyoto National Museum. He was struck by what he saw there: gilt-bronze Boddhisatva statues, Goryeo Era celadon porcelain flower vases inlaid with clouds, cranes and plum tree patterns, and more. He finally resolved to go to South Korea.
“I spent my time during my 20s and into my 30s in Korea making ceramics while inheriting the Etchu Seto furnace. I spent so many years taking after works that were famous worldwide. Making my own work on the back of history created a contradiction within myself as an artist.
“I didn’t want to borrow from traditional Korean styles; I wanted to express my own. That feeling grew within me. Therefore, I decided to study the history and natural features of Etchu Setoyaki porcelain. When I did, the memory of that white clay came back to me. I would release my feelings into the land, and use the materials around me to create. I realized how pleasant it felt, and decided it was important for me to make ceramics in Toyama.”
Then came the turning point: his first solo exhibit in Kyoto. As he nervously prepared for the opening, he spotted an American couple peeking in from outside.
“I thought, this wasn’t a place for tourists, and because I was too busy preparing, I thought they’d leave in due time if I left them alone. However, 30 minutes passed, and they were still waiting. So I let them enter.
“I wasn’t able to give them my full attention that day, so they left. But the couple came to the gallery again the next day, and the day after that. On the third day, the man said, ‘We’re returning to America soon, I want to buy something,’ and he selected a teacup. It was an understated, black teacup – the kind I thought only a fellow Japanese person would appreciate – and he bought it. That was the first time a foreigner ever bought my work, and he shattered my assumption that wabi-sabi was a sensibility that only mattered to the Japanese. Later on, I would learn that that man was Steve Jobs.”
Afterward, they corresponded for a long time. Jobs would wake up early in the morning, and they would regularly have international phone calls.
“It was too early in the morning to be witty, and I didn’t understand English, so I asked him to write a letter instead. He then sent me a fax. I took my time and carefully read it.
“He told me he wanted to come to Toyama, but I turned him down for some reason. Looking back, Steve would have probably come to Tateyama.
“He supported any ceramic I wanted to make from that point on. I’d rebuilt my climbing kiln, and the first thing I wanted to use it for was his commission.”
