At some time during its life, the mouth and neck of this common storage jar were cracked and broken, yet it was saved and treasured by someone with a discerning eye who appreciated its rough-hewn strength and beauty. The uneven, pitted surface and robust shape of this magnificent but practical container recall the natural variations in form and color of granite. Typical of Shigaraki ware, the clay is mixed with pebbles and fragments of stone. The full shoulders taper decisively in an uneven profile, because the potter quickly patted down the clay coils used to form it. During firing, ashes from the burning wood landed on the vessel's surface and were liquefied by the high temperature, forming a natural glaze upon cooling. The variation in color resulted from the different amounts of iron naturally occurring in the ashes.

The jar's eloquence belies its simplicity. The physical damage speaks of the transience of life, even as it exudes an air of antiquity. And despite its uneven surface and shape, the jar evokes a sense of stability. Such contrasts exemplify the Zen Buddhist tenet of nonduality, of the innate wholeness of all things. In the latter 16th century, tea masters began to favor rugged, unpretentious vessels like this one as water jars in the ritual of the tea ceremony.

Old Shigaraki pots are fascinating. . . . [I]n these we see . . . the sky and fields of the middle ages.
-Filmmaker Akira Kurosawa, 1910-1998