30th Year Reflection: Dr. Genshitsu Sen, Daisosho About Raku

A reflection on this my 30th year as a practitioner / student of Chado Urasenke.


The recent exhibition of Raku chadogu at the Los Angeles Museum of Art attracted many dignitaries, particularly Dr. Genshitsu Sen XV, retired o-Iemoto of Chado Urasenke. At his generous presentation of kencha, koicha and a lecture, he reminisced about how Raku was important in his initiation in Chado and as the wakasosho of his lineage.

At age 6 years, 6 months and 6 days it is customary for him to begin his formal training under the tutelage of his father, Tantansai, Sen XIV. At that time he was given a chawan made for him by Seinyu, Raku XIII created for that initiatory experience toward becoming the grand master of Urasenke. Subsequently, he was given chawan of Hagi and Karatsu kilns, the other great historical sources of Japanese ceramics. He learned the names of all the Raku grand masters as a young man. 

He stated that the word "Raku" implies fun, a modern / progressive design. He learned how to make chawan in the workshop of Kakunyu, Raku XIV and was taught that a chawan is a living thing, like a prayer, when one puts palms together. "There is "amazing electricity" that comes from touching a Raku bowl.

In addition to his personal impressions about the gathering, he delivered a speech emphasizing "Tradition and Transmission" of Wisdom, being the heart of his remarks. He stated that kencha is rather more the "ceremony". Our purpose is for host and guest(s) to be "one in spirit", united through the chawan itself.

This being my 30th year as a student of Chado Urasenke, and having heard his maxim, "Peace through a bowl of tea" many times, I must congratulate Dr. Sen for having the integrity to sustain his vision. Not only was he generous in making this practice accessible to so many people around the world, it is clear that he has indeed committed his life to this "simple" promise. It has proven to me to be a very reasonable path in greatly human terms.

My own sensei, Sosei Matsumoto, is a long time friend of the Sen Family and a truly devoted practitioner. I also owe here great thanks for taking me on as a student in 1985, for encouraging my attending Midorikai in Kyoto as a guest student (1987, 1989 and 1991) and for her dear friendship and support in the tea community of Los Angeles and beyond. 

The “Dewy Path” to the Tea House

Originally Published in Parabola (Fall 2009)

Since the Dewy Path Is a way that lies outside, This most impure world Shall we not, on entering it, Cleanse our hearts from earthly mire?[1] --- Sen no Rikyu

 “Please come for tea.”

My invitation to attend a chaji 茶事[2], a formal Japanese tea gathering, offered a poem by the venerable Bashô (1644 – 1694):

Haru nare ya	It has become spring!
Na-mo-naki-yama no	Even on the nameless mountains
Usu-gasumi!	A thin mist!

By all accounts, spring, indeed, had arrived! Blossoms were appearing on the plum trees; butterflies were celebrating near rape flowers; earthworms were weaving in and out of bright green new shoots of grasses encouraged forth by the blessings of rain. All proceeding in due time, at a natural pace. The process of chanoyu

(茶の湯) preparing hot water for tea, another name for the ritual, was very appropriate for such an occasion.

Practitioners of “the Way of Tea” (sado[3] 茶道) know that the guest (kyaku 客)　arrives in the same way, in due time and with a clear, natural intention: to create a singular union of mind-to-mind, heart-to-heart with the host   (teishu 亭主）and fellow guests. Together we would engage in this once-in-a-lifetime meeting (ichi go ichi e 一期一会).  The Hebrew prayer commonly known as the “Shehechiyanu”, fits the moment perfectly:

Baruch ata Hashem,	Blessed are You,
Eloheinu Melech Haolam	Master of the Universe
Shechehiyanu	Who has kept us alive,
V’ki'imanu	And sustained us,
V’higiyanu lazman hazeh	And enabled us to reach this moment.

The beauty and complexity of the tea event, with its ritualized preparation of matcha (抹茶), the powdered form of the green leaf of camelia sinensis, was codified and inspired in Japan by Zen Buddhists, early in the Muromachi Period. The taste of tea and Zen have been said to be equals in matters of attainment of nothingness, (mu 無) and emptiness (kû 空). Our modern practice has come to us through an unbroken lineage of  over 16 generations of tea masters, of whom Sen no Rikyu (1522 – 1591), is considered to be our greatest ancestor.

Chanoyu captivated the imaginations of egomaniacal warlords and their swashbuckling samurai retainers, providing a moment of peace in the midst of battle, and instilled a reasonable amount of refinement and upward social mobility. To be the ultimate action hero of the time, a warrior needed to know how to prepare tea for one’s “enemy” while seated together in a tiny, rustic, no-swords-allowed hut with walls no thicker than a sheet of paper. In later years geisha training included performing the ritual for clients.

Images abound of the host methodically and seemingly mysteriously wiping precious utensils and scooping water from a sunken kettle barely visible above the tatami mat floor, its steamy voice hissing, “matsukaze” (松風), the sound of “wind in the pines”. The quest of the guest is less known. She[4] is usually depicted silently awaiting the tea sitting motionless, on her heels, hands resting in her lap. But in fact, if she’s in the tearoom, she would have just traversed the path of “The Great Way”[5] and is engaged in a liminal journey of rebirth.

Slowing it Down to Promote Social Harmony, Appreciation

"Day and night, with the monastic rules of the Zen temples as my guide ...

I unfolded the world of the Pure Land in the locus of the roji..."

-- Sen no Rikyu "Metsugo" section of Namporoku[6]

Today, while the world is smaller and the battlefields seeming more distant, individuals of all backgrounds throughout the world find in chanoyu practice opportunities for purification and self-refinement. While contemporary technology moves us at the speed of light and multi-tasking is considered a valuable capacity, there are no “short cuts” in chanoyu. We continue to aspire to attain Rikyu’s objectives: to create a condition of tranquility (jaku 寂), then harmony (wa 和), respect (kei 敬) and purity (sei 清). 

in an ideal setting of repose, free from anxiety, where there is “no guest, no host”,[7] our roles are nonetheless specifically defined along the lines of studied procedures learned over many years of practice that foster the communitas we seek.

On the outside, all the bowing might be misconstrued as a duel of humbleness, but in sado, too low is too rude and professing great skills and utensils is nothing short of vulgarity. The essence of this journey is implied in the notion of wabi, わび, a Japanese poetic “ideal that finds surpassing beauty and deep significance in what is humble or commonplace and appears natural or artless.”[8] Combined with the notion of sabi, さび, withered with age, the expanded concept conveys the sentiment of a life well-lived in harmony with the laws of nature.

Along the “Dewy Path”

I was one of a handful of invited guests who had arrived at the location. While the journey is extremely personal, we needed to become a cohesive group. We unanimously invited the respected chanoyu instructor among us to serve as the first guest (shokyaku 正客); she would conduct the prescribed discourse with our host on our behalf.

Chanoyu begins in the roji (露地）[9] the “dewy path” of the garden that leads to the rustic tea hut (chashitsu 茶室).

The feeling is traveling along a metaphorical riverside “mountain” path through a symbolic forest. According to the monk Jakuan Sotaku of the Eastern Capital, “…

“ … ro 露 means “to be disclosed,” “to appear,” and ji, 地　ground, refers to the heart and mind. Thus, the term actually means “to discloser self-nature.” Eradicating all blind passions, one manifests one’s original nature.”[10]

The roji is designed, constructed and maintained as if it were indeed the path to Buddha’s Pure Land. Like the Israelites fleeing bondage in Egypt in the mystical interpretation of the Exodus, we would progress through a series of progressively smaller and lower gates, our “narrow” places, leaving behind the dusty defilement of the mundane world. Freed of all such encumbrances and purified, we hope to be reborn by the end of this experience.

In its earliest form the roji was an empty space, neither planned nor conceived as a garden. It was void of vegetation, resembling more the barren “open space at a crossroads,” referred to in the third chapter (“Smile and Parable”) of the Lotus Sutra.

Today most rojis include tightly-manicured, low, naturally placed foliage, such as moss, as well as evergreen, bamboo and broad-leafed trees that one would find by a mountain path running adjacent to a year-round creek. Our host’s roji included a “sleeve brushing” pine tree (sode-zuri matsu 袖摺の松) near the path to enhance a feeling of being on a narrow path in a dense forest. The garden sparkled as a result of his having carefully sprinkled water with “refined discrimination” just before we arrived.

Passing through the first gate, that of the outer garden, we reached a rustic roofed waiting arbor (machiai 待合; the bench was covered in dark blue felt upon which were straw cushions. The host was there and with a silent gesture  he opened the small gate to the “inner” garden, then turned and walked away to the tea hut.

The roji footpath itself is a series of elevated, uneven rocks (tobi-ishi, 飛) and occasional slate pavers naturally set into the bare earth through grass and moss covered areas. The layout subtly coaxed us to turn this way and that, providing views of the tiny garden from many vantages. The sound of our shoes on the rocks gave the host a sense of our progress toward the tea hut. The experience of walking on irregular ground immediately made us mindful of our gross, physical body. Over the three-hour chaji experience, the reminders will become more subtle as we become more attuned to the more spiritual aspects of our journey.

Here and there, our host allowed a small cluster of freshly fallen leaves appropriate for the seasonal, temporal nature of our reality. There were no flowering tress or plants that would otherwise compromise the use of naturally arranged flowers in the tea room itself. in a few feet, the roji path split, the wrong-of-way was indicated through the placement of a “barrier-keeper” stone (sekimori-ishi, 関守石), a fist-sized rock tied with a black straw chord placed in the middle of one of the stepping stones.

Purification of the Body and Mind

In about a minute’s time, we reached the proverbial “river’s edge”, represented by an informal patch of ferns shading the stooping basin rock (tsukubai 蹲踞). A signature elements of a roji, the large, low rock had a natural depression in the top into which fresh, cool water trickled from a system of freshly-cut bright green and yellow bamboo “pipes”, flowing over into the river stones below. Proceeding one by one, we each crouched down to perform the purification ritual (misogi 禊) of rinsing hands and mouth, and thereby the mind, using the bamboo dipper. A stone lantern (ishi-tuorou 石灯籠, another signature of a roji, stood sentry nearby.

  

“His body cleansed, the guest passes from one world to another and, with a sense of keen awareness increasing at each step of the way, finally arrives at the teahouse, whose interior has become less the realm of the connoisseur than a sacred space.”

--- Kimakura Isao[11]

Arriving

After about 15 minutes since we first gathered, the small frame of the chashitsu around the corner, resembling the hermitage o a lone aesthete, was now apparent through the trees. The host intentionally left the sliding hatch door of the guest’s entrance (nijiri-guchi 躙口) slightly ajar. The nijiri-guchi is about 26” high and 25” wide and is yet another “narrow place” for the guests, regardless of rank, to traverse as equals: one must duck inside and slide forward with the hands propelling the knees. In the earliest days of chanoyu the nijiri-guchi was the entrance through the outer wall of the garden – hut complex itself.

Negotiating the large rocks needed to access the raised entrance, one by one, we removed our shoes and made our way through the hatch, pulling one’s head and shoulders and knees up into the space. The last guest slid the door shut, touching the wood to the door frame with a “click” to indicate to the host that we were now inside. inside the room, the host had hung a scroll in the raised alcove (tokonoma 床の間), “Kan. Nan Boku Tô-zai Katsu Ro Tsûzu”,  interpreted as “Barrier. South. North. East. West. Make your escape anyway you can,” setting the mood for the remainder of the gathering.

Together At Last!

“[He] had left the burning house of the three worlds, and dwells now in the pristine garden (byakuroji). To leave the roji and take one’s seat at chanoyu is the same as escaping the afflicted world of desire and becoming a person without rank in this existence. Therein lies true “unconditional freedom.”

-- Hounsai, Sen Soshitsu XV (Daisosho, Genshitsu, 

Retired Grand Master, Urasenke)[12]

The full chanoyu, including the host’s serving a multi-course meal and sweets (and not eating with the guests!), the laying of charcoal to heat the water and two preparations of tea, took an additional three hours. It was a seamless “dance” of give and take, engaging the Taoist paradigms of yin and yang, and the five elements (earth, wind, fire, water and metal). Nothing was lacking in that tiny space.

After the final tea preparation utensils were inspected by the guests and returned to the host, he requested our pardon for having made any mistakes. Then we made a final exchange of bows and prepared to reenter the mundane world from which we came. At once physically tired but spiritually renewed, we wriggled out of the nijiri-guchi, the last guest closing it with a “click”, signaling to the host that the room was empty. The garden sparkled as it did earlier as the host had lightly watered it anew. One by one, we walked back through the “narrow places”, which seemed to be roomier than before. Closing the gates one by one, we left the “Pure Land”. Bidding each other a safe return to our homes, we went our separate ways.

If you do not see the Way, you do not see it even as you walk on it.

When you walk the Way, it is not near, it is not far.

If you are deluded, you are mountains and rivers away from it.[13]

***

A note from the author: I hope you enjoyed this article written for Parabola, a nonprofit journal. The original publication has many additional photographs. Please consider purchasing a copy of the magazine, (volume 35, no. 3) and support this wonderful publication. (www.parabola.org). Thanks!

---

[1] Sen no Rikyu quoted in Sadler, A.L., Cha-No-Yu: The Japanese Tea Ceremony (Tuttle, Boston, 1962)

[2] Several sources of kanji, Chinese characters used in Japanese language, were used for this article, including http://japanese-tea-ceremony.net/chashitsu.html\ , http://www.j-prep.com , http://en.wikipedia.org/ and http://www.aisf.or.jp/~jaanus/. While one cannot fully acquire the skills and heart to practice chanoyu from any media, it is gratifying to have these language tools to help me go deeper into what I have learned through direct oral transmission of my dear sensei, Sosei Matsumoto.

[3] Also pronounced “cha-do”.

[4] The roles of host and guest in chanoyu are not gender-specific; although, the position of Grand Master and his official agents, gyotei sensei, are male.

[5] ibid, quoting the Nampôroku, the collection of writings about chanoyu attributed to Sen no Rikyu.

[6] http://wiki.chado.no/Roji

[7] ibid.

[8] www.aisf.or.jp/~jaanus. A concept that combines the literal notion of “languishing” and the sentiment of “spiritual loneliness”. This is the essence of the legacy of Sen no Rikyu and his teacher Murata Juko of the 16^th Century.

[9] Originally roji was written 路次 or 路地 indicating a "path through which one passes" on the way to the chashitsu.

[10] From Zencharoku (The Zen Tea Record) by Jakuan Sotaku of the Eastern Capital, included in Wind in the Pines: Classic Writings of the way of Tea as a Buddhist Path, Hirota, Dennis, ed. (Asian Humanities Press, Kyoto, 1995)

[11] Kumakura, Isao, “Sen no Rikyu” in Tea in Japan: Essays on the History of Chanoyu

[12] Sen Soshitsu XV (Sen Genshitsu, Hounsai Daisosho, Fifteenth Generation Grand Master of the Urasenke Tradition of Chanoyu) ”Reflections on Chanoyu”, in Tea in Japan: Essays on the History of Chanoyu, Varley, Paul and Kumakura, Isao, eds. (University of Hawai’i Press, Honolulu, 1989)

[13] Sandokai (Harmony of Sameness and Difference) by Sekito Kisen (700-790)

写 Utsushi, Senke Jyusshoku/Sokka and Original Copies

While I couldn't read any of the available (Japanese language only) texts that native speaking students of chanoyu have, nonetheless I have been so fortunate to have had an extremely fine aural transmission of this knowledge. That said, nonetheless, learning the words for utensils (i.e. hishaku, chashaku, etc.) during my formative years as a (hidari-kiki mid-life aged) student of chanoyu proved to be one of my greatest challenges. Mimicking gestures and trying to remember phrases that might have wide daily application seemed doable. (A sushi chef, however, admonished me that the highly formal language of the chashitsu should stay in the chashitsu, however!)

I was so overwhelmed with new words that one evening I decided to forgo learning any more names of things and to concentrate on those of my fellow tea students. For a long time I wondered why so many of the first names of the more advanced students began with "So".

Haiken was completely another matter. It took me a while to penetrate the unasked question about why the poetic names and other provenance distinctions change from week to week. For example, the same chashaku had one poetic name one week and something else the next. I understood that it had to be seasonal at least. I finally realized that we were learning the Urasenke generational oiemoto names as they related to the month of the class date and used this as the answer for the maker of the scoop. (March was always Gempaku Sotan Koji, Urasenke's 3rd Generation master.)

Some things didn't seem to change much, and I relied on them to get me through the class if my language brain was asleep. Always popular, like Coco Chanel's "little black dress", was the basic black nastsume: Rikyu's shape, black lacquer, and middle size. Likewise a repeat, was the answer to the question, "Who did the lacquer?" It was usually attributed to Sotetsu. (Later I learned it was Nakamura Sotetsu.) Likewise, the shifuku was always attributed to Yuko, who I always thought was a woman because we had several Yuko-sans in class.

Inasmuch as  for the koichademae, we only used two chaires whose shapes were observable cues (tsurukube and katatsuki, crane neck and shouldered, respectively) this was easy to remember. As for the kamamoto wa ... the choice came from a list of historic kilns: Seto, Akahada, Zeze, Tamba, etc., but I never knew which our prêt-a-porter pieces they actually were. The kireiji, fabric, of the shifuku usually didn't change, but it was years before I learned that one of those words meant "stripe" and another "brocade" and that fabrics were very complicated to learn because of the huge variety.


When it comes to the point of the "ceremony", the tea, again we learned classic names of favored growers and the poetic names given by our oiemoto, but was it really Kambayashi? We also never have the opportunity for side-by-side taste / smell comparisons. (Please see my article Much Ado About Matcha originally published in Kyoto Journal.) 

What did change often -- shape, ceramic style, patterns -- were the chawans. We could be sure that from summer to winter, the shapes for the usuchawans  went from wide saucers to mugs, and vice versa as the seasons warmed up again. As for those used in koicha, aside from the late-comer “Korean” one (Koraijawan, but not Ido per se), there were the always correct fraternal Raku twins: one black and one red, to which we told to select a name from Chojiro's fabled seven. No attempt was made to explane whether what we were holding resembled any of them in particular, save for the color. It was like ordering in a Chinese restaurant: one dish from Column A and one from Column B. 

As the study became progressively more "intense", we began to handle material that had additional provenance through attribution to the owner, the circumstance for which it was being used now, adding any significant apocryphal or midrashic references (e.g. My sensei gifted it to me when I received my chamei.) 

Thus, in the course of my research for a review about the excellent new English-language catalog from the Raku Museum, I explored the notion of 写 utsushi.

From Wikipedia:

"Utsushi (写) can be translated as, appropriation, emulation, inspiration, attribution, etc. However, the word Utsushi encompasses the meanings found in all the terms mentioned. An Utsushi can be a work where an artist is inspired by a traditional motif and incorporates the design in a work of art or the artist is emulating a masterpiece of the past to surpass the original subtly.

"Emulating or making an Utsushi of an existing work might be done for a variety of purposes. Appropriating the work of predecessors is one of the developmental methods in training artists across all ranges of Japanese artistic genres. Through the process of replicating the techniques and style of a noted or established master, the artist experiences firsthand the technology, material requirements, and aesthetic understanding necessary in producing an artwork of the utmost quality."

Thus It is definitely not a soulless copy or reproduction.

"Utsushi promotes a dialogue between the artist and the masters of the past, connecting past, present, and future."

"Within the way of tea, a new perspective is cast upon Utsushi especially when objects that display an acute sensibility of the original and its reinterpretation are displayed and used in the tea room. The aesthetic quality is highly valued where it brings both the newly conceived version and the reinterpreted into a sharper perspective.[2] Moreover, objects favored by succeeding masters of the various schools in the way of tea have a close connection with the notion of Utsushi. Over the history of the way of tea, certain designs and objects preferred by specific masters have been emulated where individuals can enjoy and be familiar with the object in a different manner."

I began to understand the notion of at once maintaining the lineage while expanding it first hand when, many naive years ago, I accepted an impromptu invitation of a museum customer service representative to meet a gentleman who I had just shared the elevator cabin at the Kettle Museum in Kyoto. The fellow, dressed in samue, was none other than Onishi Seiwemon, the oiemoto of the famed Kyoto iron chagama house, one of the Senke Jisshou. I accepted and again was back in the elevator which now opened one floor above at his studio / workshop. I smiled. He spoke no English but was told by the receptionist who accompanied me that I was a student of chado in Los Angeles. He smiled back and invited me to look at his worktables where I saw patterns, dies, tools and sketchbooks that were clearly well used by previous oiemotos to make chagamas. These hard-worked “relics” looked as if they could create the end result without guidance by his hand, yet he seemed to be worthy of the task. I could see in his eyes that he could likely look all the way back through his lineage and see the future, too.

I then began to look into the notion of the provenance of chadogu and the Senke Jyusshoku (sp. var. Jusshoku /Jushoku)  10 Craft Families that have served the Senke schools for generations. The Omotosenke website explains the history of cultivating an appreciation for the tradition-bound patronage of form and function in the Senke Jusshoku:

"This term 'Senke jushoku' was first used in the Taisho (1912 – 1926) period, at the time of chanoyu's renaissance, when there was a great increase in demand for utensils. This is what they were called at exhibitions of their work in department stores, and the use of the term has spread up to this day. In the world of chanoyu they are still called 'shokka'.


”Looking at the history of the word 'shokka', its use was previously not limited to the ten families. Halfway through the Edo period, in the time of the 7th generation Joshinsai and the 8th generation Sottakusai, utensils were made to the Iemoto's design by more than 10 craftsmen families. These families called 'shokka' each answer all of the requirements for utensils in their field, responding to the needs of the Iemoto and of tea lovers. ... In this we see the unique point of view and readiness of the craftsmen against the background of their long history, which is perhaps the difference between them and pure artists."

The ten current Jusshoku are EIRAKU Zengorō, HIKI Ikkan, KOMAZAWA Risai, KURODA Shōgen, NAKAGAWA Jōeki, NAKAMURA Sōtetsu, OKUMURA Kichibei, ŌNISHI Seiwemon, RAKU Kichizaemon, TSUCHIDA Yūko.

Morgan Pitelka brings forth this relationship of teamasters to dogu crafters as it applies to the Raku family tradition and its relationship with Senke through the ages in his book Handmade Culture: Raku Potters, Patrons, and Tea Practitioners in Japan (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2005). I found this work to be a wonderful counterpoint to the exhibition catalog as he looks at the issues of patronage from a diverse number of vantages. An earlier essay may be read here.

Still diverted from my task at hand, I was attracted an exhibition “When Japan’s Tea Ceremony Artisans Meet Minpaku’s Collections” at the National Museum of Ethnology, Osaka (Minpaku). A catalog was published. (Japanese only).


From the Museum’s website:

“In a totally new attempt at this Museum, it was decided to bring the Jisshoku to Minpaku to expose them to the artifacts stored here, suggest that they choose a piece that inspired them and have them create something new within their own tradition. In this way we hope to provide new perspectives on both the artifacts in our collection, showing them to be a mine of potential sources of inspiration for the creative mind, and on the implements traditionally used in the Japanese tea ceremony showing how their form and function can be developed by today's Artisans and by their successors in future generations. The exhibition has 3 themes:

• Introducing Jisshoku, the Ten Tea Ceremony Artisans of Japan: Their Traditions, Activities and Artworks
-- Why Jisshoku at Minpaku? In this section the history of each Jisshoku family and their work will be shown, along with representative artworks from earlier generations of each family.

• Jisshoku Inspired: What They See, Feel and Create
 -- An artwork created by each of the Jisshoku that was inspired by exploring Minpaku's collections is exhibited in this area, along with the artifacts chosen from the exhibition that stimulated the new works.

• 
Artisans and Their Work from Around the World -- The artwork created by Jisshoku and their skills are compared to those of artisans around the world, through a comparison of activities such as beating, casting, molding, baking, painting, socketing, bending, weaving, bonding, cutting, and sewing, skills used at various stages of the creative manufacture of art and the tools used for these activities.

Matthew Larking commented in article in the Japan Times (“Ten members of the 10 craft-producing families for Senke seek exotic inspirations”) and in The Journal of Modern Craft  (“A new spirit for tea traditions: The original in modern craft tradition and contemporary oblivion. How to make original copies?) about the impulse (or not) for the current heads of the esteemed Senke Jusshoku lineages to riff off the main line and take their work to a whole new level.

“In the rarefied world of Japanese tea ceremony, innovations have often been greeted coolly. When the Japanese-American abstract sculptor Isamu Noguchi (1904-88) gave a tea kettle of his own making to the landscape designer and tea connoisseur Mirei Shigemori (1896-75), the recipient was baffled.

“It violates every concept of what a conventional tea kettle should be,” said Shigemori. “Noguchi doesn’t understand what ‘new’ means for tea,” he noted.

“By the mid-Edo Period (1603-1867), there were more than 10 craft families; the name is recent, dating from a 1919 exhibition in Osaka’s Mitsukoshi department store. The popularization of the name Jusshoku came with an early 20th-century tea ceremony renaissance that led to an enormous increase in the demand for tea wares.

“In the process of producing something new, though, the Jusshoku had to temper their creations to practical and aesthetic standards laid down by Rikyu. Practical concerns include the convenience and intention of the user, and aesthetic ones, the creation of objects that are seemingly in a natural state and soberly adorned and free from affectation. Neatness and cleanness of form are also prized. A certain unassuming quality must be discerned — no bold statements whereby the presence of an object is too forcefully felt.

“A case in point is the 14th-generation woodworker Komazawa Risai (b. 1930), who notes in the exhibition catalog the continuing importance of Rikyu’s ideals for contemporary tea life. Sifting through the museum collection, Komazawa took a fancy to wooden headrests and stools from Kenya and earthenware ceramics from Morocco, but the form of a woven bread container from Morocco in particular entranced him. Ignoring its vivid color combination of gold, red and green fabrics, Komazawa fashioned a hexagonal tea sweets container with decoration primarily of natural paulownia wood grain and a few engraved cloud and flower shapes.

“Thirteenth-generation lacquerer Nakamura Sotetsu (b. 1965) brought similar restraint to her contribution. Having assembled an assortment of objects such as an eight-sided table from Morocco, a ceramic from Mexico and tiles from Turkey, she settled upon two Iranian tiles with sprawling organic designs and a brightly colored pouch used by women in Guatemala. The influences of these objects percolated with her own hereditary traditions, resulting in a black, four-sided dish with a simplified geometrical design in subdued gold and gray.

“While the items from the museum’s collection are from distant lands and times, the new wares created have found in the foreign objects aesthetic similarities to local tea traditions. The basket of goods assembled by the 12th- generation scroll-mounting maker, Okumura Kichibei (b. 1934), includes a vertical bamboo calendar and a horizontal picture scroll from Indonesia because they suggested to him the formats of Japanese hanging scrolls. His contribution is a folding screen made form Mexican amate paper, a kind of mottled and textured fabric made from bark. In another project, Okumura took a liking to Indonesian banana paper and fashioned kamashiki (paper kettle pads) of 48 sheets folded into fourths, a tradition also said to have begun with Rikyu.

“Other sections in the exhibition include the historical examination of Jusshoku traditions and their comparison to other hand-made world crafts. The former is of particular interest for the background it provides to contemporary Jusshoku activities, and also the chance to view such rare items as the “Black Raku Tea Bowl” by Chojiro (d. 1589), the founder of Raku ceramics who produced designs Rikyu commissioned with the so-called roof-tile carving skills of his professional trade.

“In stark contrast to the anything-goes impulse of the contemporary art world, the tea world, it seems, is one that seeks in contemporary creation not the liberation from rules and tradition, but freedom from arbitrary and impulsive behavior.”

I am reminded of an exhibition by the Asia Society and Japan Society of New York, created in conjunction with the International Chado Culture Foundation, Kyoto, "The New Way of Tea". It featured art and architecture, including tea houses, mural paintings and tea utensils designed by contemporary East Asian, European and American artists. It was organized by the now late Masakazu Izumi, second son of Genshitsu Daisosho when the later was Sen Soshitsu XV, Hounsai, the oiemoto of Urasenke, and the director of the International Chado Culture Foundation. The website is still up for the most part with photographs of many of the objects that were on exhibition. Urasenke's  Milliemme enterprise provides an "advancement of culture" through the sale of newly designed utensils, tea furniture, and services participation in contemporary international expositions and other opportunities.

While I loved the idea of a riff on the old stuff ... I now, more than ever, prefer the classic versions, each one of them likely avant garde (or at least very garde) during their time. We begin to understand the issues of tori awase when what seems to be a disparate group of utensils begin to interact inharmoniously with each other to the detriment of their becoming a single means to an end. Change one element, and everything else must must be reconsidered. There must be an algorithm that can explain it ...

For those of us who do not have the resources to obtain utsushi chadogu, we are forced to improvise. This often honors Necessity, the Mother of Invention. During various situations she has brilliantly offered for the chashaku ... a sterling silver butter knife that's been in the family for generations as well as a plastic swizzle stick in the shape of a ski from an alpine resort. Of course, each has a great story behind it!