The above textured kyushus on the left required a lot more fussing than the ones on the right which are assembled from parts which don't need any alteration.

When texturing a pot's wall, one invariably adds a number of steps to realize the desired outcome: 

The first video shows how I add a gallery to the teapot's body after carving away some clay with a cheese cutting. When a make a teapot body, I generally "split the rim" in half to create a gallery, but in this case it's easier to just add a gallery for the lid to rest in.

The second video shows how I form the lid prior to the final trimming to give shape to the knob. Usually I'll make a few extras lids just in case I haven't measured correctly with the calipers.

The last video shows how I add texture to a thrown handle by wacking it with the sharp edge of a piece of wood. 

Of course there are many other steps to making these teapots, such as trimming and cutting the "foot," drilling out drainage holes, and adding a spout which, as I mentioned in my previous post, can be a disaster if you don't get it right. 

These guys have really taken up a lot of studio time and as a production potter I'm not used to slowing down so much. But I know from past experience that in order to push the creative cart forward, you have to continue to learn new skills and expand your vocabulary of possibilities.

Since I'm now intrigued with revealing the beauty of clay itself—how without glaze one's appreciation for the raw material might bring a totally different experience—it is worth the time and effort to explore new ways of adding interest to the surface. Over the course of making and remaking these kyusus, I am beginning to refine my approach and look forward to applying them to other forms. 

I was ecstatic when I pulled the 15 kysusu out of the kiln. Having spent a good week making them, as well as remaking all the lids, I was pretty stoked when they emerged unscathed and nicely reduced after a 12-hour firing.

Before Mathew Kammerer, head chef at the Harbor House Inn, came to pick them up, I had lined up the kyusus in three tight rows, as if they were ready to do battle pouring tea at his Michelin star restaurant. I was proud and excited to have created something new, something that had its roots in a month-long residency at La Meridiana in Italy, now manifesting in a new line of work.

While Mathew was on his way to the studio, I though it would be prudent to test they way they poured. I am generally proud of my teapots, and often insist that my customers try them out before buying, so I took one aside and filled it to the brim with water and gave it a go.

It didn't go as I expected. One would have had more luck directing Niagara Falls into a horse trough than they could stopping any liquid from dripping all over my table top, and no amount of technique was going to fix it. This wasn't the first disappointed I've every had after firing some pots, and it won't be the last. But there's never been a time when I was so convinced that everything was perfect, only to discover that all the pots would have to be made over again.

When Mathew finally arrived and tried the kyusus himself, he was humorously empathic. "I'm happy for you Cliff," he offered. "Success is always sweeter when it doesn't come easy. It happens to me all the time."

We had a good laugh at that, and determined I got back to work on a different style spout, this one shaped like a tear drop.  After four tries, the last one passed the test.

Here's some of the pots that I've just unloaded from the kiln. In the front are the saki servers and cups which I made for the Harbor House Inn, leaving the final choice up to the chefs to decide what they want.

It's been fun working with head chef Matthew Kammerer, since he was so open to see what I could come up with. There was no pressure to make a whole line of boring similar items, which one could have easily have purchased from a restaurant supply house.

Besides the off white saki servers (Tokkuris) in front, I made some in earth tones and black and white as well. Each Tokkuri comes with a set cups to match the the glaze and clay body. 

The above picture to the left is a recent Chawan on which I had tested out a high feldspathic Shino glaze. Similar to traditional Shino ware, the glaze turned milky gray when applied thickly over a red iron wash. To encourage this variation in color, I loosely dribbled more glaze over the entire surface of the pot  after an initial glaze application. Another way is to simply "blow" on the glaze to create areas of subtle thickness.

The second grouping of pictures is an earlier attempt at using this same process, albeit with a different clay body which also incorporated some organic material. When this material burned out during the bisque, a nice pockmarked surface was left behind, which, after glazing and firing, makes the tea bowl soft and friendly to hold and even more reminiscent of traditional Shino ware.

As most potters know, there's no counting on any Shino recipe to give you consistent result. Besides the glazing technique, much depends on the clay body, glaze thickness, placement in kiln, and, of course, when and how much you reduce during the firing.
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But that's why we love the glaze so much. Yes, it is challenging, but it certainly offers great rewards to those who have the patience to experiment and try to zero in on those qualities which they find so appealing.