This beautiful tea set—purchased in Japan by the American artist Richard Tuttle in the 1980s—is composed of a side-handled teapot (kyusu 急須) and a water-cooling vessel (yuzamashi 湯冷まし). Although I am far from a ceramics expert—you are more likely to find me studying Renaissance arms and armor than anything else—this tea set drew my attention through the demands it makes of its user. In our modern world defined by instantaneity, the tea set imposes a slowed rate of activity and calls upon us to temporarily decelerate the march of time.

With little decoration on either vessel, the remarkable burnt orange color of each piece shines bright. In this regard, the vessels are perfect examples of the material directness that Rober Moes identifies across Japanese visual culture. According to Moes, “One of the characteristics of Japanese art is directness and

this translates to the use of materials that are not altered but respected for their material properties.” The burnt orange color of this set is typical of ceramics from Tokoname (常滑市)—a city to the east of 1

Kyoto—and its iron-rich clay. Tokoname has a long history of involvement with tea wares. Considered one of the oldest “Six Kilns”, Tokoname had grown into the largest ceramics center of Japan by the thirteenth century. As of the nineteenth century, ceramicists from Tokoname began producing wares and utensils for loose-leaf tea (sencha 煎茶) such as the ones here. To this day, Tokoname remains one a major Japanese ceramics center. 2

If the color of clay used to make these vessels allows for geographic attribution, a potter’s mark on the kyusu means we can identify the ceramicist responsible for the piece. Directly underneath the teapot’s spout are two Japanese characters (Tosen 陶仙) inscribed in a circle that unmistakably read as a potter’s mark. Although I was unable to find museum pieces with a such a potter’s mark, auction website revealed teapots with similar marks and identified the mark as that of Tokoname ceramicist TOSEN Hida. Admittedly, it is possible that the yuzamashi is not from the same artist, let alone from the same set: the piece is unsigned and is of a slightly different color than the teapot. Regardless, being able to precisely attribute one of the two pieces felt like a small but significant victory!

I mentioned at the beginning that what first drew me to this tea set was its effects on time. Indeed, time is everywhere in this tea set from its original construction to its use.

Japan produces a staggering number of teawares every year both for the domestic and for the export market. Yet, pieces such as this kyusu and yuzamashi were still thrown by hand. In fact, one could be forgiven for assuming the perfect curves of the kyusu were machine-made. Yet, the oval shape of the yuzamashi and the visible throwing lines on its sides proclaim acts of the human hand.

3This process of hand-throwing ceramics is time-consuming. However, I was fascinated to learn that many Japanese ceramicists treat this method not as a chore but as a ritual that intentionally slows down the march of time. For example, in a video interview with the Tokoname potter GA Fu, he mentions that “usually people don’t like taking time, but I find it interesting.” This idea of intentionally operating in a time-consuming manner is not only philosophically appealing but also finds direct expression on the body of one the vessels in this tea set. Beyond adding visual interest to the vessel, the throwing lines on the yuzamashi express this gentle passage of time with each “stage” of the vessel’s body slowly added on top of the previous one.

The deliberate and slow control of time is also present in the use of this tea set. If at one end of the “tea spectrum” stand overly-complicated Starbucks orders and pre-packaged tea bags, the kyusu and the yuzamashi are polar opposites. As its name suggests, the yuzamashi is used to cool boiling water before steeping the tea in the kyusu. Without the yuzamashi, the tea brewed in the teapot would be bitter on account of the water’s extreme temperature. While fulfilling a practical function, the yuzamashi and the three-stage process it creates (kettle to yuzamashi, yuzamashi to kyusu, kyusu to mug) suggests efficiency is not the priority of this tea set. In the end, the interplay between the two vessels not only produces better tea, it suggests the sensual ritual of tea making. Waiting for the water to cool and the tea to brew forces one to slow down and enjoy the haptic pleasures of transferring liquids from one smooth-walled vessel to another; the aural qualities of flowing water; and the olfactory gratification of tea leaves.

Even the calligraphic script on the tea pot speaks to a slowing down of time. The seventeen lines of script are written in “broken script” (kuzushiji 崩し字). This script, from the eighth century, was abandoned following reforms to the Japanese language in 1900. Since then, the learning of kuzushiji has not been practiced meaning readers are few and far between. During my research, I even discovered that Japanese computer scientists have undertaken multiple projects to use deep learning and artificial intelligence to help Japan reacquire kuzushiji literacy. 4

Coming back to the tea set however, the use of broken script suggests the meaning of the inscription on the side of the pot is thus either not intended to be read or would take a tremendous amount of time to read. The use of kuzushiji therefore suggests a kind of quiet and slowed contemplation while brewing or drinking tea. By using such script, perhaps TOSEN Hida sought to generate a meditation on the Japanese ceramics traditions or on the subject of simply taking one’s time. Although I do not have any hard evidence for this claim, I personally like to think of the inscription in slightly different terms: during each use of the tea pot, the broken script could take on whatever meaning one needs at that given moment.

Removing the lid from the teapot reveals a body deeply stained with tea residue. Evidently, Richard Tuttle—or some earlier user—did not shy away from using it. Today, the tea set rests comfortably in the care of the Bard Graduate Center collection and no longer serves to make tea. Nonetheless, the tea set can still be useful in prompting us to reconsider our relationship to time. I know that this research project and blog post certainly prompted me to reconsider how I brew my tea and I am now the proud owner of proper tea set—no more one-use tea bags for me! I wish I could tell you that I now have broken free of the constraints of time in all aspects of life, but I must confess my days are still ruled by long to-do lists, loud alarms, and nerve-wracking countdowns. However, for two minutes a day, I get to watch my tea brew and take a few steps back from the hustle and bustle of the everyday.

To learn more about Richard Tuttle and his own collection, make sure to check out BGC’s latest exhibition Richard Tuttle: What is the Object?