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It was a very frugal environment with
great reverence for materials. We
learned to make and repair our tools.
After each firing Nakano-san and I
would sew up the holes in the cotton
gloves that had been used in the firing.
We would collect every piece of bark
that had peeled off the kiln wood to
burn it for the ash to make glazes.
After everyone went home at night, Nakano-san and I could work at the wheel to practice throwing. We were instructed to make one specific shape of sake cup. Thousands of them were thrown, never firing one. Making all those cups became like a meditation, not only giving me a feel for the clay, but also quieting my thoughts in order to develop an intuitive connection to the clay.
We lived and breathed clay - from dawn when we entered the studio to light the fire in the stove, until nighttime when we dropped dead asleep. Not even the snow blowing through the cracks in my room awoke me. It was a beautiful, picture-perfect place to live, but I've never felt so alone. It was one of the most difficult years of my life.
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